


Sky Fits Heaven

by Sonny



Series: A Different Corner [1]
Category: Queer as Folk (US)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2003-06-15
Updated: 2003-06-15
Packaged: 2017-10-13 16:26:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 29,084
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/139309
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sonny/pseuds/Sonny
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>My own WHAT IF?...Brian and Michael never "met" when they were 14yrs old...turned a different corner and they never would have met. How would their lives have been different? Being that they are "soulmates"...what would it take to get them back together?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is BOOK 1 in a trilogy of fics exploring WHAT IF Brian/Michael had met in different ways - turned "different corners", would they have met?
> 
> To my mentor, xof...who continues to lead me down this wonderful road of fic-dom: To Kris (DoT), for your unending support of me and my foolish, feeble mind...Love ya!; To Paula, Jade and gypsybird...for coming to the rescue of a flittering writer: To the B/M Yahoo Group for sending me "kudos" and pats on the back when I need encouragement...here we go again!

* * *

  
~*~  
 _ **"Real love stories never have an ending"**_  
 _-By Anonymous_  
~*~  
 _ **"Take me back in time  
Maybe I can forget  
Turned a different corner  
And we never would have met  
Would you care?"**_  
 _-By George Michael from "A Different Corner"_  
~*~  
 _ **"Traveling down this road  
Watching the signs as I go  
I think I'll follow the sun  
Isn't everyone just  
Traveling down their own road  
Watching the signs as they go  
I think I'll follow my heart  
It's a very good place to start"**_  
 _-By Madonna from "Sky Fits Heaven"_  
~*~

  
**PROLOGUE: Fall, 1985....**   


The tall, lanky, late 40-year-old man peeked through the blinds over to the parking lot. He turned back, hands in his tight chinos, straining the already huge bulge of his groin. “I’m sorry, Brian.” Mr. Leon Cohee retook his desk chair, folding his hands over the top of his desk. He was looking at the young boy in the chair across from his desk. Usually any other 13-year-old child would be squirming in the leather seat. Not this one.

Brian Kinney, new kid on the block, crooked an elbow on the arm of his chair, trying to not notice how large his guidance counselor’s package was. Thank God, it was under the desk now and he didn’t have to be forced to stare at the view at eye level. Cohee was a good guy. He reminded him a lot of the actor on TV from the show his mother watched. Bobby Ewing from Dallas. At least twenty years younger. Mr. Cohee had been nothing but sweet and kind since Brian arrived months ago at the new school year. “What do you have to be sorry for?”

“Well...” Mr. Cohee knew he couldn’t sugarcoat much with Brian. Too many of his teachers, and other students, claimed that the boy was a misfit, a loner and way too difficult to handle. Funny, he had never had one problem with him. A lot of these private meetings with the Kinneys brought out a much calmer side to Brian. Mostly, Mr. Cohee thought that this student had been misunderstood. Anger and disinterest in place of pure fear and being petrified of his own father. “If neither of your parents show, in the next half-hour, the school has no choice but to enforce the proper reprimand.”

Brian half smirked at being saved from embarrassment in front of his father, Jack. “Why wait for them? I’m the one being punished.”

Mr. Cohee couldn’t help the cool chill down his spine at Brian’s insistence for the consequences of what had been out of his hands. He opened a manila folder on his desktop, pausing in hopes that Brian might feel comfortable enough to vocalize his troubles. “Is it that bad?”

“Is what bad?” Brian folded his arms over his chest, feigning confusion. Mr. Cohee was getting too close. His small, slightly muscular biceps still carried the roughness of this morning on his pale, cold skin. No one discussed what went on in the Kinney household outside of the home. Ever.

“Home, Brian. Does anything happen to you, or to your sister, that the principal, the vice principal or I might need to know?”

“Nope.” Brian hoped his quick answer would kill the topic.

“Brian ...”

The wide hazel eyes that had once held such innocence and love for the world became filled with anxiety and distress born of a wasted youth. “Please ... don’t try to help ... you’ll only make things worse.”

“For who?” Mr. Cohee knew when he should butt out, but he couldn’t help see that Brian had such potential. Brian turned his head away to look out the big picture window as if transporting himself to another world of escapism. That part of the conversation was over. “I don’t mean to, Brian. I am here if you need me. I just ...” Mr. Cohee was growing frustrated at how little too many of his kid’s parents cared any more. “I see an ability in you to overcome any obstacle that you may face. You only have to apply yourself and dedicate time to ease into your classes. Be patient. I know how difficult it can be to jump from school to school ...”

“I’m not your son.”

Mr. Cohee pretended he didn’t hear the pain through the hurtful words. “Is there anyone in your family that can be a peer to you? Any boys your age you could be friends with at school? You don’t have to have a lot ... may be just one best friend. Someone to confide in ... have a common interest ...”

“Guys my age, they don’t care about ... well, let’s just say their intellectual level runs at about the height of the perky breasts of a 13-year-old girl.” Brian was shocked when Mr. Cohee chuckled at his comment, but tried to hide behind his hand. “I haven’t found a boy I liked enough to speak to.”

Mr. Cohee cleared his throat. “I know quite a few young boys your age that I can introduce you to ...”

Brian shook his head to clear his mind of the thoughts of what Mr. Cohee’s statement could mean. “Frankly, Mr. Cohee, you’re the academic sponsor of the Scientific Challenge of the Mind Club ... geeks and dweebs ... which spells L-O-S-E-R-S ... which means a huge N-O from the Peanut Gallery.”

“Okay, but I do know this very bright young man, knows the school very well, quite active in a few clubs and extra curricular activities. You might have one or two classes with him. Mike ...”

Brian held up a hand for Mr. Cohee to stop pestering him. Enough was enough. Pretty lame when teachers had to create friendships for their students. “Look, I appreciate the sentiment, but I’ll be fine on my own.” Brian turned his wristwatch to view the time that had passed since they began. “So ... looks like they’re not gonna show. You ready to do this, Teach?” He sat up in his chair prepared to hear the worst.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Brian stood outside, back behind the rear of the school, where the janitor’s door stood wide open. Reaching inside his coat pocket, Brian took out the near empty pack of smokes. He’d lifted them from Jack’s pants early this morning, lighter and all. He tapped one out, replaced the crushed pack and patted his jeans for where he’d put the Old Bic. Once he lit up, he sucked deeply on the filter, blowing the clouds of smoke from the side of his mouth.

Damn! A week of academic probation! What would Jack and Joan think of their precious baby boy? He started kicking at the loose gravel with the tattered tip of his Airwalk sneakers. He was contemplating whether he should go home when it became apparent he wasn’t alone. Brian didn’t know how long the person had been aware of him.

The coughing fit started, coupled with the muffled sobs. “Do you mind?!”

The tiny voice came from high above Brian’s head. He moved back a step, finally seeing the hunched form hidden on the roof. “What the fuck are you doing up there?!” Brian looked about the dilapidated structure of the building. “How the hell did you get up there?!”

“None of your business! Can’t you see I came out here to be alone?” The high voice tried to sound gruff and pissed off, but the quiet sniffling was giving his weakness away. “And could you, please, blow that gross smoke somewhere else!!” There was a shuffling of shoes on the roof as the kid backed up further out of eyesight.

“It’s a fuckin’ free country! I can do whatever the hell I want!” Brian felt that he looked completely foolish to any wandering eye. He appeared as if he was swearing to God.

“Nice! You’re almost as bad as my mom ... which I don’t really need right now! ‘Sides there’s no smoking on school property!”

“What are you?! The fuckin’ Hall Monitor?!” The more Brian tried to see up further on the overhang, the more the small body tried to avoid him. He located an area where the boy might have begun to start his climb on the garbage bins. He climbed the solid wooden crates, like rungs on a ladder. Soon he was nearly even with the tarred roof. The cigarette still lay, lopsided, in his mouth, but was soon yanked out of the air and flicked off in the distance.

On his hands and knees, the young boy bore intense frustration through his deep mocha eyes. His pale, ivory skin was flush with emotion from crying. He had come to meet Brian on his way up to keep him from joining him on the roof. “For all you fuckin’ know I’m the mother fuckin’ Surgeon General who says four out of five smokers will die from cancer over the next six months to a year of their own fuckin’ addiction to the nicotine in cigarettes!” At least he stopped crying.

Brian rested his arms along the roof ledge, watching the young boy closely. The soft ebony curls wafted in the strong winds. His puny chest was heaving under his maroon and yellow tank top. He was boiling mad and Brian knew that pressure underneath so well. “Help me up.” Brian offered out a simple hand, hoping the kid would take it.

Dirty, bloodied hands scrapped across the roof surface to cover his face. “Please ... just leave me be ...”

Brian’s body instantly became alerted to the discoloration, bumps, bruises and scrapes all over this scruff of a little kid. He felt like his heart was being ripped apart. At least Jack knew how to hide the battle wounds. “Nope. Sorry.” Learning that he’d have to heft his own thin frame up onto the rooftop, Brian climbed as best he could. Once he was seated on the hot surface, Brian noticed the kid crawling back over to hide away. “Hey!” The kid stopped, turning that sweet innocent face in his direction, dried tracks of tears more visible and gulped down his fear. Brian knew that feeling, felt it every moment with his father. “You all right?” Pulling his legs to his chest, Brian squinted toward the sunlight. He wanted to place an air of nonchalance about him. He had to do something with his hands, since he couldn’t smoke or do what he really wanted. Why, oh why, did he feel compelled to pull the kid into his arms and hold on tightly?

Leaning his small frame back against the nearby wall, the young boy pulled his own legs up to his chest, wrapping his arms about his knees, resting his heated cheek on the marred skin. “I’ll be fine.” The simple words came out choked and tortured. The matching maroon shorts barely fitted over the kid’s thin thighs. White socks were pulled up as far as they’d go on his calf muscles. His maroon Puma’s had seen better days. Hand me downs of hand me downs. Black soot and bloody scrapes slashed across his chilled skin. The scrapes on the knees looked worse.

Brian had a feeling that nothing, except the ringing of the bell, signaling the end of the school day would make this kid move one inch. A sudden thought filled his addled brain at one reason why someone would choose to come up here. “You weren’t planning to jump ... were you?”

A snicker escaped the moist, thick lips as they held a tiny grin. “Not likely. With my luck, I’d just end up breaking my leg. ‘Sides, even though I’d like nothing better then to disappear right now ... ending my useless life is not on the top of my list. My Mom would kill me.”

“So, what are you doing then? Licking your wounds?” Brian knew this might put him on a bad standing with the kid, but he had to try something to make sure he was going to be okay.

“Is there something you need? Isn’t there somewhere else you gotta be?” The boy mumbled through the spread of his legs.

“No. Why?” Brian couldn’t help but smile at the aggravation displayed on the cute face of the kid.

“ ‘Cause you’ve done nothin’ but bother me! Go away!” The face disappeared again, tucked in his bent knees, hoping that the world would just fall away.

Man! Brian couldn’t bare to see this happening any longer. His heart was beating faster to know that he actually felt mutual respect for another human being. He cared about this young kid. From inside one of his other jacket pockets, Brian found the package of Juicy Fruit. “Gum?” Then he realized that he had a roll of Certs somewhere in his other pocket, maybe in his jeans. “If not, I think I have some mints ... somewhere.” He rolled to his knees to dig around in his many hiding places

The puny, hunched shoulders began to shake.

Brian watched in shock as he anticipated another breakdown from the kid, but something unexpected happened. Did it ... was it ... man, it sounded like ... laughter? “Wha-?”

The ebony head fell back to the brick wall as he held tightly to his abdomen. “Oh ... shit!” He couldn’t stop from giggling. The brown eyes crinkled as a new reason for the growing tears surfaced.

Brian was bewildered by the beauty of another boy. He wanted to know his name. Wanted to be closer to him. The laughter was infectious. Never had Brian seen someone go from one extreme to another. Joan, his mother was always somber and quiet. Jack, his father was loud, obnoxious and angry all the time. Claire ... well, she was too good to be a Kinney. She disappeared way too often in Brian’s youth for him to care one bit about his own sister. Brian actually couldn’t tell anyone what it was like to have a sibling. He quickly joined in the relaxed atmosphere that was building up between them. But soon the emotions were too overwhelming again and the young boy crumbled down the wall, curling into a ball on his side. “Hey! No! No! No! Ssshh ... shit can’t be that bad!” He crawled over to rest his hand on the crouched back. Underneath the tank top the skin was warm, but where flesh was exposed the cooling wind changed the temperature.

“What the fuck do you know about me?!” The quick response was shot back in anger.

Brian cupped his hand around the nape of the neck in his hand. He pulled his face closer to the incredibly engaging brown eyes. “Nothing, but ... I’d like to get to know you, if you’d fuckin’ stop bein’ a baby.”

“I’m not a baby!” The dirtied hands went to swipe at the moisture on his face. “I’m going to high school in another year!” He seemed fairly unproud of that piece of information.

Brian thought what a contradicting statement that was. The shaking began as the wind picked up. “Shit! You’re fuckin’ freezin’!” He took off his jacket to place like a blanket over the young kid’s shivering form. “Look, are you sure you’ll be all right? I shouldn’t need to get the school nurse or something?”

Knowing when to give in, the boy cuddled under the warmth of the engulfing jacket. The perfect white teeth began to chatter. “I told you ... I’m fine.” The tight wince on his face made Brian realize that he was covering more then just the visible injuries.

“Bullshit!” Reaching underneath his own jacket, Brian lifted the Tank top to discover the huge bruise at the base of the boy’s rib cage.

“Hey!” The kid pulled away, not liking strangers touching all over him

“Who did that to you?” Brian wanted to know who’s ass he had to kick next. He was growing protective of this fragile young boy. “Look, I’m not here to start any more trouble for you. I know how bad the beatings can get. But ya gotta show them that you're bigger then they are.”

“But ... I’m not.”

Brian pulled closer, scooting over to sit cross-legged next to the curled body. He found that he was allowed to keep his hand under the jacket to rub the arched back to soothe the battered muscles. “That’s where you’re wrong, man. You have to think big up here.” He tapped at his left temple. “Come at them with their own rage. Make sure they know who they’re really dealing with.” It was kind of funny for Brian to be giving this boy a pep talk when he needed one himself.

“They think I’m a queer. And they hate that I’m smarter then them. I look out of place in their world. I’m weak in their eyes.”

“What makes them think you’re a homo?” Brian tried to look away from the quiet beauty before him, wondering if he should admit a few truths of his own.

“Because I feel differently when I’m with boys. My mom knew I was gay even before I did. I like girls, believe me, I’ve tried to like-like them, but they just don’t make me feel anything ... at least not like when I’m with ... oh, never mind.” He went to bury his head under the jacket.

Brian thought this was quite adorable. “Stop hiding from me. I’m gonna hound you until you tell me who did this to you.”

“Brad Logan and his jock friends.” Finally the mumbled explanation came forth. “They have the same gym class as I do. We’re running hurdles. One of them tripped me ...and well, I’m nothing but loose limbs and gangly legs, so I went head first into the track gravel. Brad ran by me, making sure he got his last bit in with ‘That’s what fags get when they think they’re better then us.’”

“What did your gym teacher do?” Brian moved the hand rubbing the kid’s back to reach up and push back the mussed raven black curls.

“Sent me to go to the school nurse. I’m tired of her, though. She’s patched me up too many times, but she’s no Marcus Welby M.D. She always wants to call my mom. I hate that, ‘cause then that means I have to deal with all the shit I’ll get from her making a fuss with the principal. I wish I knew how to fight.”

“I can teach you.”

The head popped up. “Really?! You mean it?!”

“Would I have made the offer if I didn’t mean it?”

Sitting up, pulling himself out of range of Brian’s tender touch, the boy sat back against the back wall, still using the jacket as a blanket. “Why are you doing this now?”

Brian was confused by the comment. “What do you mean?”

“I’ve seen you before. Around the halls. As a matter of fact, we collided into each other, on the stairwell, about a month ago. It seemed like you were looking right through me.”

Brian didn’t like hearing this about himself. “I must have been preoccupied.” He tried to think back that far to the particular moment in question. He couldn’t believe he’d been that rude. “What did I say to you?”

“I did most of the talking, actually apologizing, as you made sure I had all my books, and papers, back. I watched you run down the rest of the stairs. Someone was outside ... I think it might have been your dad. He didn’t seem too pleased that you were running late. He kind of shoved you head first in the car.” The boy shook his head sadly. “I wondered if he was always like that with you.”

Brian was caught, trapped by those doe eyes just penetrating his face. “Pretty much.” He left the comment at that, nothing more.

The two pale hands from under the jacket popped out to grab a hold of one of Brian’s warm ones. “I’m sorry.” Holding the honeyed flesh in his grip, the young boy placed a delicate kiss to the knuckles, in quiet gentleman fashion. He did a silent motion of laying his cheek on the hand as an added move of comfort and thanks. “Thank you for the loan of the jacket . . .” They both went to stand as the material was passed between them.

Brian wrapped an arm around the frail shoulders helping the kid to find his footing. He found that the small frame fit perfectly under his encompassing arm. Instinctively, Brian slowly pulled the boy into his embrace. The tiny, gangly limbs encircled his waist and met at the lower part of his back. “I need to know that you’ll be all right.” The arms tightened about Brian. He had never felt arms that wanted to hold him so close. It was nice. Brian wanted to sink into him. The soft palms began to rub a gentle rhythm on his back as Brian pressed his cheek to the right temple under his chin. He could stay here forever and never want to move.

“Mike!?” A booming voice disturbed their embrace. “Mikey!?”

“Yo! I’m comin’!” The young boy, who was obviously being called for, broke away from Brian. A hand to Brian’s flat chest and steadily beating heart, he held him back to speak quietly. “Stay, even after I leave. If he knows you’re up here, you might get in trouble.”

Brian was about to admit that it didn’t matter, he was in trouble already, but the kid named Mikey was quick, despite the injuries. “Hey! What about a later date? I have to teach you how to be a good soldier.” He gave a sloppy pseudo-military salute which made Mikey chuckle.

Mikey was about to climb backwards the same way Brian came up, but paused at Brian’s words. “You really wanna see me again?” At Brian’s easy nod of his head, the glow that beamed off those strikingly beautiful features intensified. The chocolate brown depths crinkled at the corners as he quickly sprung himself into Brian’s arms and planted a kiss right on his lips.

To say the least Brian was stunned, but his arms automatically engulfed the small body to his own radiating warmth. He grabbed at the side tufts of Mikey’s hair to hold him steady. Brian was experienced at kissing boys, but the lips he’d just tasted were virgin ... he had to be gentle.

Breaking them apart, only a slight inch, Mikey kept his mouth hovering over Brian’s quivering ones. “Are you?”

“Am I what?” Brian was caught unaware of Mikey’s intent of an answer.

“You know ...” Mikey gestured his eyes to show what he had mentioned before ... about being *gay*.

Shaping his fingers over the curve of Mikey’s cheek, then cupping the bone structure, Brian sent his hazel eyes to admit to a truth he’d been unwilling to vocalize to no one else. “Yeah, I am.”

The sweetest giggle poured out as Mikey reached up to wrap his arms around Brian’s neck squeezing him close. “Cool.” It was the last thing whispered in the shell of Brian’s perfect ear as Mikey flittered out of his grasp and made his way down the makeshift ladder of boxes and crates.

Brian did as Mikey suggested, remaining in hiding until he heard the disappearing voices echo inside the building. Whew! He could barely catch his breath. And his heart felt like it would beat out of his chest. How could he have missed an angel like Mikey? Leaning back against the brick wall, Brian closed his eyes hoping to have the vision imprinted on his mind. Something to get him through the week.

Shit! Brian hadn’t mentioned his suspension! How in the world was he going to get word to Mikey about not being able to meet him ... for a whole week?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
 **2 days later ... may be 2 days too late ...**

Brian had finally slipped out of the house, when Jack had passed out on the couch and Joan was away on church business. The Vice Principal had no sympathy for Brian Kinney and had told his loving, understanding parents about the suspension, which had given him a severe beating by Jack and a curfew from Joan. All that Brian could think about was getting to Mikey.

Brian had to admit being worried about him. For two days, he’d thought of nothing else.

School was just letting out and Brian stood back behind the building where he’d last seen Mikey. He noticed the familiar face of the janitor, wringing out the mop. If anyone knew anything, the janitor must know where Mikey might be. Maybe give him a last name so Brian could look him up.

“Excuse me.” Brian knew a hard worker when he saw one, so being polite wasn’t any trouble.

“What do you want, kid? I got work to do.”

“Sorry, I don’t mean to bother you, but do you know a kid named ... uh, Mikey?” Brian tucked his hands into his jean pockets. A slow smile spread on his lips in anticipation of hearing where he could find him.

“Mike?” The man’s back stiffened. His head turned to face Brian with a shock of white filling his craggy features. “Son, haven’t you heard?”

“Heard what?” Brian only had to look into the frightened grey eyes of the janitor to know that something terrible had occurred. He backed away, holding out his hands. “No! I just ... I saw him only a few days ago ... he was laughing ... and crying ... he can’t be ...” He tried to catch his breath as the janitor patted his back. Why did his heart hurt so terribly? Sharp pains pierced his chest and tears pooled in his eyes. Funny, how he was able to cry for poor Mikey, but not for himself

“Calm down, son. Mike’s gonna be all right, but he’s not gonna be coming back to this school.”

“Thank you, sir. Again, I’m sorry.” Brian walked away as if his very soul had left him. He never knew how he returned to the Kinney house. He had no fear in him as he entered through the front door, right in front of a deeply snoring Jack. Claire was waiting for him, prepared to read him the riot act, but all Brian could see was a younger version of his mother. He allowed her to vent her frustrations on him because he deserved it. Knew he had caused the sweetest angel harm and God was punishing him ... would keep punishing him until He was satisfied.

******************************************  
 **Present Day, 2003 ...** - **BRIAN**

  
 ** _"Brian?"_** The voice called out from the fog. " ** _B_** ** _rian_**...are you listening to me?"

Turning his head, slightly to the side, Brian stared right through the face in front of him. He'd been in another place again. Another time of happier memories. As his eyesight cleared, he watched the short raven locks slowly transform into long, deep, burnished red-gold ringlets. The form before him even traded genders as the voice picked up a lighter tone. The skin remained pale and slightly honeyed, but the joy-filled chocolate brown eyes became slate blue and hard, demanding to be noticed. "I'm sorry, honey. Did you say something?" He shook his head, placing his elbow on the table and leaning his cheek on the fist he'd made. He could swear that the remembered touch of whoever he'd been daydreaming about was still on his perspiring skin.

Paige Kinney tapped her well-manicured fingernails on the white table cloth as she contemplated her husband of eleven years. She was used to him zoning out as she warbled on through her long discussions, often allowing her to monopolize the time. But lately, Brian seemed to be slipping further away, into another world. She admitted to liking to hear herself talk, but this was beginning to be downright rude. "I was trying to tell you about meeting with Jessica's teachers, but suddenly, I realized that you weren't even answering me. Where the hell do you go, Brian? I ask you for one little favor and it's like even that's too difficult for you to manage." Paige unfolded, and refolded, her cloth napkin over her lap, making sure each exposed area of her silk skirt was protected incase of a mishap.

Brian picked up his utensils, not really understanding why smaller forks got pushed aside for only salads, while the larger fork enjoyed the main course. He switched the order of them, just to silently play a trick on himself. And really, would using the smaller fork allow him to enjoy his lettuce any better then a normal fork? Green leafs were green leafs. "What's Jess done now?" Brian could really have cared less. Paige usually made a big deal out of nothing. Their daughter was precocious and a bit on the stubborn side. He had to admit that he often envied his daughter and her ease in the world. She had bigger balls then he did.

Paige began her tirade, again, about Jessica and something to do with a boy in her class. Apparently rumors had gotten spread and Jess had kneed the boy right where he carried his most treasured possession. Brian did cringe, only because of the "sympathy" rule between guys, but when all was said and done...he secretly cheered for his strong-willed daughter. Go get ‘em, girl! He'd taught her right. Just when a true smile was about to spread across his lips, another voice penetrated his eardrum.

 **"Mikey!"** The weary voice of a tired mother yelled for her son. **"Michael Jeremy!"** There was no use in calling him anything but...gone.

Paige just went on to talk into thin air. Brian turned his head to watch as a small boy, of about three years old break free of his mother's arms and obtain an awesome reign over the entire restaurant. The high-pitched giggles caused Brian to grin, slightly, as he stared wide-eyed, not knowing what to expect coming his way. The little tyke left a demon trial of catastrophes in his wake. Grown old men skittered out of his way. Old withered biddies screamed in terror. Brian was the only one who braved the tornado heading right for him. Reaching out with his long arms, Brian swiped up the bundle of energy, keeping a firm arm across the boy's tiny chest. Michael squirmed relentlessly in his grasp. Turning back to his wife, Brian held up a hand. "Hold that thought, dear." Not even waiting for her response, Brian stood, holding the child to his long torso, his little butt resting along the arm underneath. He held Michael in his arms like a papoose. "Where do you think you're going, Mikey?" The words just flowed from his mouth, as if he'd used that name plenty of times in an old life. Brian's brow furrowed in confusion. He was very comfortable with the name as he clutched the boy tighter to him.

The young mother brushed a heavy mop of blond locks from her forehead. The dark circles under her eyes spoke of long hours worked, maybe slaved, for minimal wages. "Thank you so much, sir. You don't know how often this happens and I spend forty minutes apologizing to complete strangers." She held out her arms to take her son back.

Unwilling to give up the young boy, for some unknown reason, Brian rocked the child in his arms. Like he had done with his own children, when they were younger. He missed the baby smells of their youth. "Where were you headed?"

The young woman pointed back into the dining room. "Don't you have someone waiting for you?"

Brian glanced over his shoulder to his very perturbed wife, who was trying to gather her frustration at being ignored, yet again. Her embarrassment was clearly stated by the continual muttering to herself. "Paige? She's just my nagging bitch of a wife. I'd much rather see what I can do to help you." Turning back to face the pretty young woman, Brian untucked a hand to offer her. "Brian Kinney." He went on to place his cheek beside the little boy's as he "cooed" near the tiny ear. The method was working like a charm.

"Leah Cortes." Leah stared in amazement as she watched this beautiful man lull her son to calmness. "How do you do it?"

"What?"

"This...way you have with kids. It's amazing how quiet he's become." Leah squinted her eyes at Brian. "You must have children of your own."

Brian loved talking about his children. They were about the only thing out of his marriage he truly was proud of. "Yeah...two...a girl and a boy."

"Ah! No wonder you seem like a pro. How old is your boy?"

"Six." Brian rubbed his growing stubble against the petal soft skin of young Michael's face. "Bram will be six in another month. Jess, my daughter, is eleven."

Leah reached out to play with Michael's foot, tugging affectionately on the appendage. "I can hear the love in your voice. You sound proud to be a father."

"I am. They're the best things I've ever done with my life." Brian didn't want to knock the brilliance of his sperm. His children were perfect, in his eyes, no matter what Paige said.

Leah pulled away slightly, wondering why she didn't like the sound of his voice. "Some men would have said their wives...or their careers...but you pick your kids." She shook her head in bewilderment. "Where were you when I was looking to get married, Brian?"

Brian laughed heartily as he figured the girl couldn't be more then twenty-four or twenty-five years old. He'd known EXACTLY where he'd been. Shackled to a wife and a marriage that never should have happened. But wishing the wedding band off his finger would make his children nonexistent...and THAT was non-negotiable. "You never answered my question, Leah...was there something I could help you with? Walk you to your car? Watch Michael for a few minutes?"

Biting the corner of her mouth, Leah looked at her son's comfortable position in the arms of Brian Kinney. They both looked content, peaceful almost. "Actually, Brian, I'm here to interview for a job. I know it sounds imposing, but would you mind watching Mikey while I step into the manager's office?" She peeked over Brian's shoulder to see that his wife was silently munching on her salad and sipping at her lemon water. Wow! That woman looked like a piece of work! Poor Brian! "You think your wife would mind the company? He is a handful." Leah moved up, prepared to take her son back, but Brian chopped a hand delicately over her forearm.

"Absolutely not! I've got him...so you go do your thing...and come find me when you're finished." Brian patted Leah's shoulder in comfort, showing her she didn't need to worry. Her son couldn't have been in safer hands. "Good luck." Turning Michael in his arms, he made the boy rest on his hip as he carried the now-quiet child into the dining area.

"Brian!"

Brian heard the soft scrapes of sandals on hardwood flooring as Leah ran into his arms, kissing him on the cheek. "What was that for?" What had unsettled Brian was the fact that he suddenly began to think when was the last time someone wanted to hug him...hold him for no reason?

"Being nice...and sweet. For a working mother like me, I don't get many people who care about what happens to me. It's just neat to find out that sometimes, if you look close enough...you're shown that there are still good people in this world. Humanity hasn't lost its heart." Leah patted his chest, directly over his beating heart. "Thank you." She was gone in a flourish of flower-petal scents.

Brian wondered why he had done this favor for a complete stranger. What had been the draw...the pull? He contemplated his answers as he retook his seat at the table. His perfect salad, before the main course, sat untouched and reeking of Italian dressing. Man, did he hate Italian dressing! He often went for a nice peppercorn ranch or a honey Dijon. Why did fancy-pants eateries always assume everyone liked Caesar or Italian dressing? And where the hell were the tomatoes, cheese, green/red peppers...everything that made up a salad? The monstrosity before him resembled leaves and day old bread. Christ! Those croutons could choke a horse!

"What is that, Brian?" Paige crunched on her crouton/toast as she gave her husband the Evil Eye.

"This...is Michael Jeremy Cortes...a.k.a. Mikey. Don't you remember, Paige? We used to have one of these." Brian held up little Mikey who allowed himself to be rearranged on the nice, roomy lap.

"I know WHAT he is, Brian. I carried Bram for nine months. The question is...WHY do you have him?"

Brian used a thumb to point behind him. "His mother, Leah, is interviewing for a job."

"And how long have you known...Leah?" Paige spoke the name with such venom.

Twisting his watch, Brian deducted a few extra seconds. "About sixteen minutes."

"Don't be a smart ass, Brian."

"Don't use that tone with me, Paige."

"Which one?"

"The one that makes you sound like Joan."

"I happen to like your mother, Brian."

"Well...what a shocker that nugget of info is." Brian set his leg in motion like a galloping horse. Michael looked to the plate in front of them, wondering how they even began to eat this jungle of a meal. "You hungry, Mikey?" Brian took a side glance at the child's worried face. "This...is what some grown-ups call a $14.00 salad." Michael reached out with a clumsy hand and grabbed for a doused green leaf, pulling the dripping food to his mouth. To his disagreement, Michael got a mouth full of Italian dressing before he could even enjoy the lettuce. Brian made a similar sour-looking face for Michael's benefit. "Doesn't taste so hot, does it?"

Paige continued to glance about the other tables, wondering who might be talking about them. "Brian, it's bad enough that you have the boy...but do you have to let him eat with his hands?"

Brian wondered when Paige had suddenly turned into an exact duplicate of his mother. She used to be so much fun...giggling and laughing like a schoolgirl. They got along better in those days, too. Now, he could barely spend an evening in their bed or an entire meal in her presence. She knew just how to peg all his faults, making him feel inadequate. Just like his parents used to do. Nothing he did, or accomplished, was ever good enough. He often wondered if anyone would ever be satisfied with the way he was.

Would he ever be able to find that one soul who loved him no matter who, or what, he was? Lately, he was even beginning to wonder about his children's faith in him. And somehow, Brian couldn't see losing their love on top of everything else.

Feeling a wave of insecurity pelt him, Brian held Michael closer to his chest. The child seemed to soak up the attention as if he'd been craving the gentle touch for months. "Here." Brian handed off the smaller fork to Michael, taking the larger fork in his own hand. As if noticing the adult had the cooler toy, Michael snatched the larger fork from Brian's hand. It seemed like he was comparing sizes, when he glanced up at Brian wondering what their difference was. "That's what I said, too Mikey." Brian was just about to ask what they should do when Michael threw the smaller fork down on the carpet, refusing to settle for the mini-utensil. "My thoughts exactly!" He pressed a kiss to the young child's temple, chuckling to himself as he realized he was on the same wavelength as this boy. He missed this closeness with Bram. But most of all...Brian couldn't help feeling he was missing another Michael from his life.

His Mikey.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
 **Present Day - 2003** \- **MICHAEL**

The long, feline stretch from the sleeping form took up most of the bedspread on the low-lying mattress. Naked flesh rubbed against silken sheets as the bodies in the bed rearranged themselves, yet again. The New York loft had one huge area of open space that allowed the early morning sunlight to penetrate from the row of windows in the living room. The prone form was lying on his back, one arm up and over his head, the other laying across his bare midriff, seeming to hold the bed linen just at the dip of his abdomen where the ebony pubic hair rose from hiding.

Michael Charles Novotny opened his warm, languid, chocolate brown eyes to find an unfamiliar...third arm wrapped about his chest. At each tiny move, the appendage tightened. The arm above his head came down to cover his eyes from the morning rays. Christ, what time was it?! And what in the hell had he taken last night to make himself feel so foggy this morning? The closer he scooted to the edge of the mattress, the stronger the hold on him became. Damn! Another nameless face to kick out of his bed!

Rolling toward the safety of the hardwood flooring, Michael sat completely naked. He looked at the dirty blond head tucked under the sheets, facing away from him. Blonds? When had he gotten on this kick of doing blonds? Wrapping his arms around his raised knees, Michael covered his eyes wondering where he got the vision of mahogany brown locks flowing through his fingers. He reached up for the wrist watch on his night stand, securing the band around the slim bone structure. On his right wrist lay the cheapest piece of jewelry he'd ever purchased in his young thirty years. Michael figured it was the first thing he bought when he moved to New York and he'd worn it ever since.

The flea market cowry shell bracelet ear marked a moment in Michael's life when that inner niggling of "Who am I? Why am I here?" plagued him for several months. Like he was missing a piece of himself. Had been without a part of his character that truly set him to understand who he was as a functioning human being. He had to admit the design was simplistic in its beauty. A row of pale cowry shells, side-by-side, surrounded by woven black rope, from top to bottom. The second he picked up the bracelet, the seller had approached him, anticipating a sale. Initially, Michael didn't want to get into a bickering feud for the piece of junk, then some kind of whispering breeze warned him he might regret the missed opportunity. Michael hated when he did that to himself. He'd fight with his inner voice for days wondering why he didn't buy the item on the spot.

He had the money to buy the thing, even if it cost more than a million dollars, but it was the principle of the thing. The second he had the bracelet in his grasp, there came an intense warmth radiating through his palms, charging up his arm. Almost piercing his steadily beating heart. The junk jewelry had endeared itself to him. Michael Novotny didn't do sentimentality. It wasn't worth the heartbreak, but leaving that single cowry shell bracelet on the seller's table seemed like leaving a rare find behind. Like the bracelet had been looking for him as foolish as that idea sounded.

Compliments came unbound on his fashion sense. Many pegged him as a Label Queen. Bargains were not his forte. The sale rack never intrigued him, and mark-down items were sacrificed for higher-priced, cheaply made designer brands that spoke about his place in this world. Michael even worried about what he had on underneath it all. Even when they found his lifeless body on the frozen tundra, his rescuers would say, "Wow! This man had style! Class! What a fuckin' waste!" So, needless to say, no one understood the reason behind the cowry shell bracelet. The only time Michael undid the ties was to take a shower, but the bracelet was never further from him then a few feet.

These days, Michael just went with the flow. Did his own thing without bothering anyone important. The less he stirred up, the more he could live the life he wanted. He worked his job, payed his bills and fucked any man he wanted to, provided they were interested, as well. Oh, yeah they were very interested and left his bed well satisfied, always wanting a bit more. Michael never did any man twice. That was too much of a risk, for both parties. He didn't want to build any trick's hopes up, nor did he need the added baggage of a "puppy dog" at his heels.

Standing up from the cold floor, Michael pulled out the silk pajama bottoms from his dresser drawer. He was going about his morning routine with no plans of disturbing the body in his bed. The stranger had already been forgotten. He stepped into his bathroom, turning on the faucet. He splashed cool water over his face, in order to clear the haze from his eyes. Looking at his image in the mirror, Michael contemplated the look he'd been maintaining for years. He had to admit...even he found himself completely fuckable, but the tragedy came when Michael tried to stare harder at his features to the man he was within. Who the hell was he trying to impress?

He barely had one or two friends he could ultimately depend on. Family didn't count either. Uncle Vic had been more then just a tolerable relative. He was his boss, his mentor and more of a father figure then his own. Michael chuckled to compare the two men who'd been handed to him by fate to decide his environment for growing up.

Vic Grassi, a strong gay man, was completely out and open for any conversation you had to approach him with. Daniel Devore, a.k.a. Divina Devore, a closeted gay man who was a "drag queen", who had run from the first sign of his son all those years ago. Tough lesson to learn that someone could actually find fault in your birth. After craving his father's love for fourteen years, finding out that the one man he’d thought had the soul of a hero had feet of clay, Michael was glad Danny had been gone from his childhood. Why the hell would Danny want a gay son who was trying to find his own footing, on similar grounds, when he was having difficulty himself?

Michael couldn't bear to see Debbie after the fiasco with Danny. She'd warned him in her **_"I'm your mother"_** tone as he packed his duffel bag planning to stay with Vic for the summer. With a wounded heart, she had released him to find his own way, knowing that going back to the high school where he'd been picked on and teased relentlessly was not an option. He'd taken his last beating...kicked while he'd been down, face in the gutter. She'd never understood his fear, yet was supportive of his decision to remain true to his sexuality. She gave her son wings to fly, but never thought he'd fly so far away and longer than she expected.

Rubbing a hand to smooth over his growing stubble, Michael tried to pick out any reminders of his mother in him. Too many times he didn't recognize his old self in this new image. He'd perfected the character too well. Nothing remained of the sad, pathetic geek he'd been at fourteen. No one could mess with him now. He'd taken up every kind of martial art he could afford, learning defensive techniques that could send a 300-pound bruiser to his knees, screaming for his "mommy". His body was tight, muscular in all the right places. But to no avail he still had the cutest bubble butt known to any gay man. Well, maybe one thing remained from his old self.

Michael exited the bathroom, heading for his kitchen. He started the coffee pot, pulling out his mug and the creamer and sugar. Opening the front door, Michael grabbed his papers from the floor. He never really got them to read, it just looked pretty neat to show outsiders what kind of taste you had. "Wow! The New York Post AND the Wall Street Journal! He's such an intellectual! He can talk about current events and never bore you! What a waste, though. He just collapsed right here on the frozen tundra. Shame, really!"

Michael heard a whistle in his direction before he shut his door to the other occupants of the building. He turned to find his neighbor Eugene Vittore, standing in the doorway across the hall wearing nothing but a sad excuse for a towel around his thick waist. Michael did the typical "guy" nod toward the other man. Eugene knew of Michael's homosexuality, so they were safe in any discussion they decided to carry on about. Michael got a kick out of Eugene's actual interest in who he'd brought home the night before.

"Hey, Gino! What's up?"

"Check this out, Mike! She's in my shower right now." Eugene's robust frame moved and the towel adjusted over his slight gut.

Michael turned away slightly at the flash of skin he'd been shown. Damn! Not this early in the morning! "Who is the ‘she'?"

Eugene flicked his thumb over his shoulder. "Tracey, the building super's niece. Ain't got much going on in the face, but damn she's got a set of beamers," Eugene made the sign for female breasts with his large hands. Actually he was trying to grow a nice set of his own, but no one, not even Michael, had the balls to tell him. "They just scream to be nuzzled. And baby's got some ‘back' that you could rest a beer or two on. She just broke up with her fiancé...but I think I might have a shot." Eugene gave Michael a thumbs up signal.

"I'm happy for you, Gino. She's a nice girl." Michael wasn't lying. Tracey had come in to fix many of his plumbing and electrical problems.

Eugene then gave out his double thumbs up sign to show he'd score, one way or the other. "Wish me luck." He was just about to go back inside, hopefully to change towels, when Tracey walked out with her unattractive overalls and tool box in hand. "Hey, Trace...what's the rush? Ain't you gonna stay and at least have some coffee?" Eugene hated being put down in front of other people, especially when he talked "big".

"Next time Gino, give your shower a chance to breathe. Washing three dogs in your tub and then trying to compound the clogging with your girlfriends...well, it doesn't make for a clean pipe." Tracey leaned against the far wall, knowing full well that Eugene often clogged his drains only for the sole purpose for asking her out and working on her last nerve.

Rubbing a stray hand over his teddy bear of a chest, hair and all, Eugene tried to look as seductive as he could muster. "Can't convince you to spend the morning with me? I go to work out in another hour or so. I can always go later."

Tracey knew Eugene had a good heart, but the sexual prowess just didn't fit his nature. She walked up to him, nearly nose to nose, and patted his ample belly. "Looks like we've put off the gym for too many other women, Gino. I'd hate to be the one who keeps you from getting back your girlish figure." She turned around to head in the direction of the stairs, which allowed her to pass by Michael in his doorway. "Hey, Michael." She winked at him, adjusted her baseball cap and trudged on down the stairs with the goofiest grin on her face.

"Figures." Eugene crossed his arms over his chest.

"What figures?" Michael watched Tracey walk downstairs wondering why he never paid any attention to how pretty she really was. She wasn't breathlessly gorgeous, but she was tolerable. If she dressed like a girl, maybe he could see her a bit differently.

"She likes you, Novotny."

Michael had to chuckle at Eugene's take on Tracey. "She knows I'm gay, Gino. She doesn't have any chance with me."

"Hey, we all know your sexual status, but that don't knock the fact that you're a pretty spectacular looking piece of meat that women flock to...I just wish you'd share the wealth here, Mike."

"I'm not gonna fight you for her, Gino, if that's what worries you."

"No, what worries me is that you bring home guys like that one last night...and I can't help but think you're trying to send me some kind of signal...or a sign that I'd look more attractive if I did something different with myself."

"Like what, Gino?" Michael went back to face his neighbor when he discovered that Tracey had done more then just pat Eugene on the belly. He swiveled to look down the stairs...and sure enough he found the missing material.

"Like...I don't know, Mike...maybe I should hang out with you...shop where you shop, eat where you eat...take some of those Asian art classes you do...hey, Mike, has it gotten a little drafty in here?...maybe Tracey should check the air..." Gino had absolutely no clue to his state of undress.

Michael covered his eyes, walked to retrieve the towel hanging off the stair railing as he brought the missing item back to its owner. "Martial arts, Gino. And...yeah, maybe one day this week, we can get together and have like a ‘‘girly' day of shopping, the hairdressers and frothy Mochachinos at Starbuck's..." He kept his eyes covered while Eugene got himself together.

"Thanks, Mike. She's a hot tamale, that one." Eugene shook his head, giggling at Tracey's slight teasing. "Don't know what her fink of a fiancé thought he was doing giving up a gem like that." Eugene then thought about what Michael had stated a few minutes ago. "You actually think it's good idea? You'd take me shopping...and to the salon...you know, it doesn't have to be just Starbuck's, Mike...there's this cute, little café on 44th and..."

Both men looked up as a throat cleared down the end of the hall. Eugene gulped and held his towel tighter about his waist. Michael just stared ahead, confident that he'd done enough on his end of the social, sexual game. He tucked the papers under his arms.

"So...I'll see you later, Michael. And thanks again...for last night." As if he found no other way to express his pleasure over their minor tryst, the trick heaved his backpack over his shoulder as he waved, smiling a soft grin, as he quickly went down the stairs.

"No problem, uh..." Shit! Michael couldn't remember the man's name. He was sure he had screamed it once or twice during the night.

"Matt?" Eugene tried to supply as he finally began to breath again. "That one was a beauty, Mike."

Michel shook his head as he went back to his loft door. "No, I don't think it was ‘Matt'...and why would you think that was his name?"

"Looked a lot like Matthew McConaghey." Eugene shrugged wondering why Michael was suddenly disinterested in talking to him. He saw his neighbor so rarely these days. Had he done something to offend Michael?

"He did, didn't he?" Michael kept walking into his loft, giving a small wave goodbye over his shoulder to Eugene. He didn’t know why he suddenly became self-conscious about his lifestyle. He had lived a life of being unapologetic. Why decide to change now?

"Call me later, Mike." Eugene made the ‘phone' sign with his thumb and pinky. "We'll get together." Novotny's door shut quietly on Eugene's attempt at being friendly. Man, that boy had some demons following him, which was a shame. There was so much potential there that it just broke his heart to see a cool guy like that stay so distant from the human race.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Brian made sure he cleaned the kitchen table at a slow pace to show his disinterest of hitting the sack with Paige. In fact, if the noises he was hearing were correct, she wasn’t in their bed either. She was practicing her Japanese while working out. Which was kind of a good thing. For a few months now, Brian could swear, when he heard his wife speak to him, she was speaking another language. Actually it sounded more like Charlie Brown’s teacher in his inner ear.

Pretty soon, Paige would stroll in for her 8-ounce bottle of water. Nothing more, nothing less in her book. Follow the rules and don’t rock the boat. She’d probably question why he bothered washing dishes, since they had a dishwasher AND a housekeeper that would come around in the morning. Brian wanted “hands-on” activities to shake him up out of his dull drums. He couldn’t help knocking the feeling that somewhere, in another world, he’d done this exact task, with a person who made him laugh until his belly hurt. That the stranger’s mother used to have the mouth of a sailor, but have the embrace of a warm, loving heart. Brian had to stop drying the plate in his hand as he almost let it drop. Paige wouldn’t like her fine china being messed with.

“Brian?” In walked Paige, decked out in her tight Lycra outfit, a towel wrapped around her neck.

“Wha-?” As if he felt she could mind read, Brian tried to drain his mind of any thought.

Paige stepped up to the stainless steel, oversize refrigerator, pulling open the door to reach for her pre-bottled water. Her hair was pulled into a long ponytail at the back of her head. Ringlets framed her perspiring face as the min-earphones hung from her head to her portable CD player hanging off her hip. “Christ! Brian...how many times do I have to tell you, that’s what we hired Lupe for! What does it look like if she comes in tomorrow and there’s nothing for her to do?”

“Well...” Brian so wanted to crash the plate in his hand on the floor, right in front of Paige. Instead, he replaced it to rest on the counter. “Maybe you could invite her out with you and your friends. Take her to lunch. Go out shopping with her. Buy her a little appreciation gift for all the work she’s done for us.” He shrugged, knowing what kind of reaction he’d received. Beginning with Joan Kinney...no one liked a smart-ass.

Paige nearly choked on her sparkling clear water. “What is with you, Brian? That’s the second time in two weeks that you’ve put your neck out to help some stranger. I’m not gonna even pretend it’s got anything to do with them being women, but...did you even ask them, if this was what they wanted out of their lives?”

“What the hell does that mean?” Brian wondered about how Paige could have changed her way of thinking so drastically. She used to love fighting for the underdog. Taking plenty of pro-bono cases to help the lowly citizen. Now that she’d made partner, she couldn’t touch anyone below her. Make a little more money then someone else and suddenly you’re on a higher cloud then them? “You think people actually WANT to live in poverty? They ask, specifically, to be laid off from a job they’ve worked at for thirty years? What kind of bullshit thinking is that?”

“Why are we even fighting over this, Brian?”

“You’re the one who brought the topic up. Lupe has never done anything bad, never stolen from us, she works five other houses besides ours, she goes home to a house full of children that aren’t even hers AND she manages to NEVER be late. So I wanna clean off the kitchen table, wash a few fuckin’ dishes and put away the left overs. Did you ever think to ask ME, dear, if that’s what I wanted to do?”

“You’re upset with me, aren’t you?” Paige kept the bottle tipped into her mouth, squinting her slate blue eyes directly at her husband.

“Now, what in the world would give you that idea?” Brian wondered when Paige would drop that veil over her face and show her true personality. This woman who stood before him was too different from the one he remembered. Sadly, the woman, who was staring intently at him, was not the girl he’d fallen in love with. In fact, he was steadily falling out of love for the past few months. Finding solace in daydreams and the darkness of the night when he could hide away from reality. “I just think you’re showing such cattiness at winning the partnership over that other woman in the firm. Didn’t she bring you in from the ground up, Paige? Don’t you think you owe her a bit of gratitude?”

“I owe HER nothing, Brian. Melanie Marcus did abso-fuckin-lutely nothing to create a fun-loving environment for me to flourish in. So I had to show her who was stronger. She’s a gay, you know?” Paige made a screwy face as if a skunk had sprayed the room.

“What’s a gay? Sounds like a flower?” Brian tried to play the name-calling with some light banter. His heart sped up at the reference that hit too close to his deeper feelings, to the man he was inside. Paige made her usual **_“Don’t play dumb with me”_** -face, so he pursued the conversation. “You mean she’s a lesbian?”

Paige snapped her fingers. “That was the word I was looking for! You know when I was working along side her, in my interning days, she used to tell me about what she’d like to name her children...if she had a boy or a girl. I kinda stole from her.” She giggled to herself, knowing how evil it sounded.

“What do you mean? Are you saying both our children were named as some kind of revenge tactic?”

“No!” Paige swiped a hand in the air. “Jessica had already been born. I was pregnant with Bram. Mel had mentioned that she had a grandfather, Abraham, who she wanted to name her son after...I thought that sounded too Jewish, so I had some of the nurses look up some variations in the baby name books. We settled on Bram and...Viola!” She spread her hands like a great illusionist.

“It’s now official.”

“What?” Paige couldn’t help the smile on her face at her own brilliance.

“You are one nasty, cruel, bitter and vindictive bitch!” Brian knew he was safe to call his wife that to her face. She was often proud of the moniker.

Pacing up to Brian, Paige pinned him up against the counter. She liked picking out his clothes to wear. He represented her well in the community. She liked it when people played by her rules. Reaching up a calm steady hand toward the honeyed brown locks sweeping the side of Brian’s stubbled cheek, Paige ran her fingernails through the strands to end at the nape of his neck. She tugged harshly, forcing his head back, which caused her to bring her right knee up to fit between his splayed thighs. “Don’t forget, Kinney...who’s got the ‘balls’ in this family...” Paige then proceeded to pull him in for a grinding kiss, then quickly pushed him away as if he was germ infested and dirty.

The room took on a strange, trippy feeling as she exited. Brian couldn’t get the stars to stop twinkling in his eyes. Those self-defense classes she’d taken a few months back had taught her well.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Michael had dressed in his simple uniform of white shirt and black trousers, with somber loafers as he pulled his light jacket around his shoulders. The temperature was supposed to have dropped to show signs of the beginning storm coming for the weekend. The subway ride to work had been uneventful, but chilled him to the bone. The heaters had broken down, again. Uncle Vic wouldn’t want to hear any excuse for being late, not even that his nephew had turned into a frozen popsicle and stuck to his plastic seat.

Getting off at the station a block down from Vic’s restaurant, where Michael was a maitre d’, he jogged to the back entrance. Finding a few of the cooks taking an early smoke break before they began the meal for tonight. Some of the guys had worked for Vic for years, so they knew Michael since he was a young man.

“Hey, Mike!”

“Mikey!”

“Yo, Mikey!”

“Hi, guys.” Michael stepped up to the inner circle of their warm cigarette smoke. He tried to remember not to breathe too much of their air, or his asthma would kick him in the ass. He tucked his face down in his collar. “What’s the special for today?”

Anthony Loures, the Head Chef, pushed up off the wall. He always enjoyed telling the “tall tale” of how he would specially make the meal for the evening. “Nonna’s Lasagne.” He brought his fingers off his lips to kiss them in the air. “Bellisimo! Not your everyday pasta lasagne, but a family favorite in my home. Tiny, spicy meatballs drenched in tangy tomato sauce and cheese bedded between delicate homemade egg noodles. Tomato sauce and creamy mozzarella layered between the noodles and topped with finely chopped Parmesan sprinkles and tiny meatballs.” The circle of chefs moaned in pure heaven. The kitchen would be smelling of all different kinds of herbs and spices. They all loved to make homemade food that brought them back to their childhoods. “Aye...I save you a plate, Mike...yeah!?”

Michael shook his head in utter loss of words. “No! Absolutely not! That sounded horrendous! I don’t know why Vic hired you. I’m gonna go in and see if I can talk him into serving Chef Boy’ar’Dee from the can!” He mimicked the finger kiss that Anthony had mastered, while trying to keep from snickering. “It would be a whole hell of a lot cheaper. The Chef he makes a mean ravioli!” Michael knew this would send Anthony into a teensy fit. How Americans’ tried to capitalize on so called “homemade” authentic Italian dishes.

“Ach! THAT CHEF ‘Dee...you know what I heard, Mike?”

“No, what did you hear, Chef Tony?” Michael began to rub his palms together to create more heat. The cold was seeping in quicker then he realized.

The rest of the chefs huddled closer as if Anthony was about to share the most important secret information.

“He uses...dog food...” Anthony threw up his hand in total aggravation. “I kid you not!”

Michael and the rest of the chefs did a chorus round of “Nah! Can’t be!”

Michael was beginning to feel the tightening of his chest muscles. His asthma needed a break. Fuck! He hated to be rude to “family”. “Gotta go in, guys! I’ll see ya tonight.” He stepped into the warm, sweet smelling kitchen where he knew Uncle Vic would be concocting his latest creation for the dessert menu. His cakes and tortes were legendary. He made a mean Apple pie, as well, but they’d never tell. “Vic!?” He heard the telling clangs of pans and pots. “Hey, Poppa?!” A few months into Uncle Vic taking over the care of his young nephew, Michael had gotten comfortable calling Vic “Poppa”. This man was the closest he’d become to having a father.

Standing at the huge kitchen range, Vic Grassi looked like he’d fought with an entire case of wheat and white flour, but the result was...breathtaking. In his Chef’s jacket and cap, Vic stepped back from the design, hoping it remained standing long enough to be chilled in the large refrigerator. “Well, what do you think, son?”

“Were you going for a Guinness Record in height?” Michael walked up to the right of Vic, staring over his shoulder.

“No...I just went with a...feeling, I guess. With that Mayoral Event coming up and quite a few weddings under my belt, I’d hoped to perfect my signature cake.” Vic bit down on his thumb. “I don’t know, I think this one might be it.” He then turned to face his nephew, coming quickly out of his fog. “Call your mother.”

“Ma? What the hell is she doing talkin’ to you? She knows my cell phone...”

“Michael, have you bothered to check your messages...or your voice mail? She’s been frantic, thinking you’ve collapsed in some back alley, having been beaten by ten thousand homophobic fanatics.”

Pulling out his phone from his pocket, Michael pressed the “on” button. “I wonder what could have happened. She knows you and I stay in touch every day. Wasn’t it enough that you told her I was still alive?” He pressed the million tiny buttons to get back to his menu so he could filter through his call log. “Je-s-us...H...Christ!” His eyes widened at how many times she’d called him.

Vic knocked a fist to Michael’s shoulder. “Before you take one of my bus boy’s home as a nightcap...be sure to check your fuckin’ messages, okay?” Vic turned back to figure out how he would need to maneuver the cake into the freezer.

Michael walked away, into a quiet corner where he could possibly make a private call to Debbie. Only to appease her monthly death worry over him. Something else intrigued him on the LCD screen. Another number that picked up almost an even run against his Mom’s Pittsburgh number. It was from the Pennsylvania area and if Michael recollected it was one of the many Pittsburgh prefixes. Just to avoid his Mom and cause her more heartache, Michael dialed the mystery digits. In less than three ring tones, the line was picked up.

 ** _“Hello?”_** The deep, lush timbered voice sounded tired and annoyed.

“Who’s this?” Michael snapped, wondering why HE was supposed to have been the one who irritated this man. The stranger’s phone number was on HIS call log.

 _ **“Who’s this?”**_ The voice changed to a snicker. **_“You’re the one calling me. Who are you looking for?”_**

“I beg to differ. Your number is on my log menu. Who were you calling for?”

Letting out a long breath of release, the man on the other line took a breath. “Look, obviously there’s been a mistake in the dialing of someone’s numbers...and if neither one of us is going to say WHO we were looking for, then let’s just call a draw...and hang up...”

Michael became intrigued by the coolness coming through the phone lines. “Hey! Wait!”

 ** _“What is it, now?!”_** The voice didn’t sound like the disposition got any better.

Michael didn’t know why the idea had come to him, but he decided to go with his gut feeling. “Where are you?”

 _  
**“Planet Earth. Why...where are you?”**   
_

Michael got the heartiest laugh from the answer. “New York. Brooklyn, to be exact.”

The other line got very quiet.

“Hello? Are you there?” Michael plugged a finger over his ear to make sure he hadn’t lost the signal.

 ** _“Yeah, I’m here.”_** The voice sounded a lot like he didn’t want to be wherever “here” was.

“Look, I’m sorry for bothering you. It was just a choice between appeasing my frantic mother who still thinks I’m three and not thirty-three or finding out why your number was on my call log.” Nothing came over the other line. “Well, that’s my story...and I’m sticking to it.”

The voice cleared his throat. **_“No, I’m sorry. I haven’t been in my own head lately. Things are happening in my life that I’m not happy with and I just...I don’t know...”_**

“You just don’t feel like yourself anymore...or you feel like you’ve been perpetrating this ‘fake’ you while your ‘old’ you has been hibernating for years?” Michael didn’t hear a response, except for a sharp intake of a breath. “Nah! I wouldn’t know the first thing of what you’re talking about.” Then he heard the light chuckle through the phone. “I think...before we go...the least we could do is exchange names. Just in case...well, those freaky moments you need to make sure it’s not ME on the other end.”

 **  
_“First names only.”_   
**

“Of course. What do you think I am? I don’t want you stalking me!” Michael joked easily, liking the sound of the stronger laugh in his ear. Kind of tickled his ear lobe as it vibrated the cartilage. “Sounds like a plan, Stan.”  
 ** _  
“Brian.”_**

“Oh...wow...you came out with that real fast!”

 **  
_“Well, it is my name.”_   
**

“And it’s a good, sturdy name.”  
 ** _  
“Well...”_**

“Oh, yeah! What’s my name? I guess that’s only fair.” Michael cleared his throat to make sure he was heard loud and clear. “Mike...well, actually it’s...”

 **  
_“Michael...or should I say, sometimes...it’s Mikey?”_   
**

Shocked by the use of his unused nickname, Michael had to laugh outright at the stranger’s perception...oh, wait, Brian’s perception. “Yeah...how did you know?”

Nothing. No sound and then the cool dial tone of the fact that no one was on the other line anymore. Wow! Had Michael been able to find someone who was unable to face the human race as badly as he was? A bit embarrassed by what he had turned his new self into?

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Brian made sure everyone was tucked in before he made his way downstairs to his private sanctuary. The basement had been refurbished to fit a small office for himself and an area of leisure, listening to music or watching television. Paige had showered and made her way to her own office ready to work on some legal briefs she’d brought home. She always worked best at night, which suited Brian fine. She wouldn’t care, one way or the other, if he was in bed.

Nothing else was down here to make anyone want to enter, so Brian was safe from intruders, but not the curious eye. He’d caught his nephew, John, trying to invade his space all too frequently lately. The boy was a certifiable thief in the making. Of course, his sister, Claire, thought her son couldn’t be that mischievous. John had been caught once or twice trying the lock on the door, never quite able to master the mechanism. Brian made sure he was able to watch the boy whenever he was over. He didn’t trust anyone but his own children, but even that was becoming impossible.

Jess was growing distant and appeared as if she’d much rather be alone then be connected to a family who just didn’t understand her uniqueness. All Brian knew was that he couldn’t stand the verbal battles between Jess and Paige. Especially when Paige saw fit to pick on her own daughter for the clothes she chose to wear and the hobbies she pursued. What Brian wished more then anything was a way to speak to Jess. As of now, she thought her father was a bit of a weakling, which would be right. Brian avoided much need for confrontation as best he could. Paige didn’t want anyone, but herself to rock the boat. He admitted that he allowed his wife to overthrow his place as head of household, but her theory was that whoever was the breadwinner became the big “man” on campus. Paige won...hands down.

Creeping down the stairs, Brian placed the plain brown paper bag on his computer desk. He picked up the remote for his stereo, clicking the CD player on. The volume was turned low enough to not bother anyone upstairs, but audible for him to listen peacefully. He reached down to turn on his hard drive to boot up his system. Out from his jean pocket, Brian pulled out his glasses. He reached up to turn on his desk lamp. What was in the plain brown sack had become something greatly treasured. A faithful client of his had recommended this comic to read. The Adventures of Captain Astro and Galaxy Lad. Never truly being able to have a childhood to speak of, Brian had immediately grown attached to this comic super hero. There was something about the rare nature of a random hero that no one knew about that just spoke to him.

Okay, the adventures were dated and hokey, but the simplicity of how you find heroic qualities in every day ordinary people just clanged a familiar noise in his head. He’d told the clerk, at the comic store, that he’d be buying it for his son. What Buzzy didn’t know was that Bram wouldn’t even dare come ten feet of the comic book. Pulling the clear plastic wrapped comic from the bag, Brian watched his monitor open up his programs. His first order of business was to check his personal email address. The one only given out to family, friends and a few close clients. One client in particular that he’d become close to who had suggested if he really wanted to know him better to pick up the first issue of Captain Astro, would probably have replied to his last email from yesterday.

Moving his mouse around the smooth pad, Brian clicked on his Internet server and waited for the digital cable modem to work its magic. He plugged in his address and password hoping that once inside he’d get the window that would pop up to tell him he had “new” mail. He sat, diligently waiting, as he peeked to the side to look at the cover of the unopened comic book. The muscular Captain stood proud, in flight, prepared to battle any and all misdoers and villains. Even under the mask and full body disguise, Brian sensed an extraordinary man lurked beneath. Galaxy Lad was off in the distance, always watching the back of his trusted friend and partner. What had he been told? They were ... the Dynamic Duo. Brian chuckled at the idea that he might have someone out there who would champion his fights. Help him become someone stronger then who he was.

The window he had been anticipating popped up, telling Brian he had 26 new messages. They were probably mostly junk mail about Viagra and penis enlargement, or worse that Irma Jean had her webcam hooked up so he could watch her “do” a few of her animals on her farm, which didn’t interest Brian at all. As he moved from one screen to the next, the subject headers of his new mail filled the view. He scooted his wheeled task chair around the plastic mat on the floor. He adjusted the curser to the first piece of new mail. Hmm ... something from Claire.

 **> >>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>EMAIL for Brian Kinney>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>**  
 **SUBJECT:** About Sunday  
 **DATE:** 06/18 /03 8:04:56AM Eastern Standard Time  
 **FROM:** ClaireK@penn.net  
 **TO:** BKinney@penn.net

 **Brian,  
Mom wanted me to be sure it was all right that we celebrated Marshall’s birthday this Sunday. Made it a family gathering. Were you and Paige planning on holding a special party for him? I know Paige hasn’t been getting along with her father for quite awhile, but with him being a good friend of Dad’s, and Mom knowing him, too. Anyway, I’m gonna have to bring the kids with me. Hubby has to work, again.**

 **Sorry:(. We’d plan the special occasion later, on his birthday, but Mom and I have conflicting schedules. Just email me a “Yeah” or a “No Go” for Sunday. I know how you hate writing long letters.**

 **Your Sister,  
Claire**

 **P.S. Should we make it pot luck or will Paige be able to arrange a meal?**   
**> >>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>**

  
Shaking his head, Brian wanted to get this trouble off his hands sooner then later. He clicked on the button that allowed him to reply to the mail. He poised his fingers over the keys.

 **  
> >>>>>>>>>>>>>EMAIL for Brian Kinney>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>**  
 **SUBJECT:** RE: About Sunday  
 **DATE:** 06/18/03 11:21:31pm Eastern Standard Time  
 **FROM:** Bkinney@penn.net  
 **TO:** ClaireK@penn.net  
 **  
Claire,**

 **Sorry. You’ll have to ask “The Warden”.**

 **B.**   
**> >>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>**

  
Brian quickly moved the cursor to hover over the send button. The next ten were junk mails about what he feared. A few were from some clients, but the one he was looking for loomed large in his list of email. He tried to read the others as quickly as he could before he went back to the one he had been anticipating.

 **  
> >>>>>>>>>>>>EMAIL for Brian Kinney>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>**  
 **SUBJECT:** Your drawings : ) YEAH, BABY!!  
 **DATE:** 06/18/03 11:45:12pm Eastern Standard Time  
 **FROM:** Dalyn28@yahoo.com  
 **TO:** Bkinney@penn.net

 **YOU. ARE. FUCKING. AMAZING**   
**> >>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>**

  
Brian snickered at the compliment, with the added endearing swear word. This was turning into being one of his favorite clients. They’d only begun corresponding over two weeks ago.

  
 **> >>>>>>>>>>>>>EMAIL for Brian Kinney(cont'd)>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>**   
**I send you the most confusing descriptions known to man...and yet, you know just what I needed to represent my project. What did you say you did for a living, again? Because if it isn’t this, baby...you are fuckin’ wastin’ someone’s time. God Damn! You made the character so...unbelievably H-O-T! The prick practically melted off the page. If he weren’t only a digital pic on my computer, now...I’d definitely fuck him. Did you model him after anyone I know? Someone famous perhaps, so I can drool upon the appropriate image. Once I get this puppy underway, to the printers and on the shelf...well, there’s no telling how popular my name will become.**   
**> >>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>**

  
Brian blushed slightly, unable to know if he should admit that he had drawn a caricature of himself. His heart sped up to know that another man was finding his image attractive and H-O-T. Something Paige hadn’t felt about him in, like, a million years.

Those old tremblings he’d been able to make lay dormant began to surface. Yeah, at least for short periods of time in his misspent youth, Brian had thought he was gay. He had never gone any further then kissing and heavy foreplay ... maybe got jacked off a few times, but the switch had flipped to a different position on his way into high school. The steady, forceful hand of Jack Kinney had cleared Brian’s confused brain of any thought about boys. But he hadn’t been able to make him for forget the one boy in particular.

Mike ... Mikey ... His Mikey.

That cell phone call had spooked Brian, the other night. Like a vision from a past he would like to forget. Had to forget in order to receive His forgiveness. The Mikey he had known was probably halfway across the world. Life would play her cruel game with him, just handing his deepest wish to him on a platter. Nothing in this world was that easy.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Michael rolled over, unable to sleep, again. He was trying to relax in his empty bed. Strange, he would have thought that he could do the new dishwasher Vic hired today, in order to show him how friendly New York was, but the *game*, the *hunt* wasn’t in him tonight. Stretching out his pale, naked form under his silk satin blend sheets, Michael tucked a pillow under his cheek. He couldn’t get the voice out of his head from the cell phone call the night before.

The voice drew him in, mesmerized his soul. Deep and rich with class born of hard labor. Laying on his stomach, Michael reached over on his night stand to grab for his cell phone. What was making him NOT push those same numbers? Any other guy would be begging him to fuck him. He could have his pick of any man in the world. Why was the Untouchable the one Michael sought? Replacing his cheek on the pillow, he played around in the call log menu, dialing, then stopping at the fourth digit and hanging up. He couldn’t do it. Shit! Fuck!

But what if? Hmm, what if that freak accident was meant to be? Fate trying to tell Michael to wake up and smell the hot sexy guy on the other end of the line? Taking the guilty feeling by the reigns, Michael dialed the entire number this time, patiently waiting ...

 

~~TBC...


	2. Chapter 2

Brian had been so involved with reading the first issue of Captain Astro’s adventures that he never bothered to look at his LCD screen to recognize the number. He was laying across the tan suede, soft leather couch enjoying this moment of relaxation. He sent off all his responses to e-mails and finished up a bit of work for a few of his clients. The newest one, which had praised him beyond belief, got the long letter and deserved to have his project worked on. _**“Dalyn28"**_ had sent an attachment with his e-mail which helped Brian complete a few more drawings. He hoped to have a quick reply soon, because he really enjoyed talking to this young man.

His phone rang twice before he answered

“Hello?” Brian flipped a page in the comic book as the issue rested on the flat of his drawn up knees.

Michael choked at the sound of that voice he'd grown to dream about. “Tell me about yourself, Brian.”

Brian pulled the phone away from his ear to look at the tiny screen. There was that New York number again. “Excuse me?” He couldn’t remember the name of the man on the other end. Wait! No! He just couldn’t stomach having to say the name “Mikey” for an entire conversation. The name would bring back bittersweet memories that would break his heart. “What have I done now? Is the phone company being assholes about your service and you need me to pay for half the bill?”

Michael chuckled lightly, rubbing at the material covering the pillow. “No. I’m just ... I can’t sleep ...” Sighing heavily, Michael rolled over, onto his back, bringing the pillow with him to shadow over his throbbing head. “I’m so fuckin’ bored with my life, right now, and you are about the most exciting thing to happen to me ... uh, in months.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.” Brian crossed an arm over his chest, tucking the hand under the elbow bent to hold the phone to his ear. “I have had the phone in my possession, since you called last ... and I haven’t been bothering you, so why are you calling me at ...?” He glanced at his watch finding out that it was even later then he thought. Damn! Paige would think he had either died down here, or fallen asleep. He might as well gear up for a night on the couch, which was fine with him. “I hope you don’t expect me to be calling you, just out of the blue to chitchat. My wife would scream at the cost of long-distance.”

Michael felt his heart crumble a little. Man, oh, man, was he in deep shit. “Ah, so there’s a *wife* in the picture. Do you know how much I was hoping you’d say girlfriend/boyfriend or ... hell, I’d even take a fiancé. Then I would at least know I stood some kind of a chance. Do you frequently enjoy bursting people’s bubbles like this?”

Crinkling his brow in bewilderment, Brian wanted to know why he had even intrigued this stranger. “Sorry, I’m secretly a pessimist hiding under the coating of an optimist. It’s hard to remember who to be truthful to.”

“Hey, I’m all for it, Brian. I’m a pessimist hiding under the guise of a full-bodied optimist. I think the glass is half-empty, but I’m gonna drink the rest of it to wash the dish and put it away so you don’t have to worry about it. Is that pretty fucked-up or what?”

Brian sniffed out a laugh at the candor of this man. He liked it. It was refreshing to be honest with someone who knew nothing of his past and didn’t have to face the freak he’d become. “You wanna know fucked-up? I’m a thirty-three-year old man who has been following The Rules for years. I’ve been fed words and advice on how my life should be. I was going to go to college for advertising, but instead, circumstances caused me to change majors and I became a psychologist. I currently have a very small private practice client list, but have begun to venture out into Management Psychology, where I go to people’s workplaces and hold ‘classes’ to teach them that they’re okay and how to deal with the world inside their employment. I get paid to tell strangers how to cope with change ... and I have never been able to take my own advice. My whole life is a lie. I can’t even bear to look at myself in the mirror each morning to understand who the hell I’ve become.”

“Welcome to the real world, Bri.” Michael could have cried at the sound of frustration in Brian’s voice. Gone went the pillow as Michael arched an arm over his face. “Scoot over, man. I’m gonna join you at that mirror. I haven’t been able to find myself ... or the ‘me’ I used to be back home. I had such dreams and ideas for the future, when I was younger. I have become a man I don’t even like. I shower, shave and dress HIM in the finery I’ve managed to purchase with the money HE’s made, but HE’s still not fuckin’ happy.” Michael moved his arm so he could look at the cowry shell bracelet on his wrist, hoping to get some humbleness at the simple beauty staring back. “I have everything any man could ever want, I can fuck whomever I choose and I can basically live this way until my last dying breath, but ...”

Brian sighed as he closed his eyes to knowing exactly how Michael felt. “But it’s not what you want. To the world you have everything, but to yourself ... you’re incomplete.” He didn’t know why, but just by the way this man talked ... Michael?, made Brian feel like he could open up his whole life to him and not be judged. That was what Brian feared the most, having other people judge his decisions in his own life.

Michael began to mull over a few things Brian had mentioned. “Your wife isn’t willing to listen? Is your marriage on the rocks?” Michael heart began to speed up to wonder if the fact was true.

“My marriage is ... functioning, as all do, when you’ve had too many years of keeping yourself at a distance emotionally. I loved her. I still do, but she’s not the same woman I fell in love with. That’s hard for me to accept, because I know how much it hurts our kids. I wouldn’t change anything, just to be happy, if it meant losing them.”

Michael smiled a broad grin. He loved kids, even if he appeared selfish and proud of being single. “Kids? How cool is that, huh? I bet they’re the apples of your eye?” It intrigued Michael to learn that he did want to know everything he could about Brian’s children.

Brian loved boasting about his children. Anyone willing to hear what he had to say was going to get an earful. “I’ve got a daughter, Jesse. She likes to be called Jess. She's eleven and slowly coming into being the individual she knows she wants to be when she grows up. Jess and my wife butt heads, constantly. Paige thinks Jess needs to look a little more ‘feminine’ and Jess doesn’t like dresses or skirts. She says that she’s not comfortable with her panties hanging open for all the world to see.” Brian heard the giggle from Michael. He liked that sound in his ear. “Jess doesn’t have the kind of book smarts Paige would like her to have. Jess is the average B+/- student. I usually have to break them apart, be the sounding board for their disputes, but I think it’s healthy for them to be honest with each other. Paige tells me that she would never have shown her parents this kind of disrespect. Which makes me glance at her, rolling my eyes to remind her that her father never liked me, but she still married me anyway.”

“Okay, so I’ve heard what Paige, which I’m assuming is the ‘wife’, thinks of Jesse, but what’s your take?”

Brian cleared his throat trying to find the right words to convey his feelings. “She’s my heart. I wouldn’t trade her for anyone else’s children. She’s exactly who I’d like to have been, years ago, as I was making my way into high school. Her tenacity is killer. I don’t know where she gets it. Probably from Paige, but Jess still has her heart. I’m hoping Paige won’t try to squelch the pure beauty of our daughter. I like who Jess is. She thinks I don’t care, but if she only knew how much I’d be willing to take her and her brother, away from this place. Make them realize who their father really is and that the life Paige is trying to give them isn’t based on any reality.”

Michael knew he’d done the right thing when he dialed this number. “You have a son?”

“Bram, short for Abraham. He was my pal, my little buddy when he was a baby and into his toddler years, but suddenly I have become uncool. He’s becoming like Paige. He’s missed his childhood somehow. I suppose I need to shoulder some of the blame. When I do these management therapy classes, I’m on the road more months then I am at home. I’ve kind of liked that, in a way, for myself. Gives me a chance to get out of my head and be someone else. Besides, I kind of enjoy hiding behind my work. I get a lot out of helping other people solve their problems. That allows me to shove away my own.”

“Seeking the best in others’ helps us to search for the best in ourselves.” Once the words were out of Michael’s mouth, he slapped his forehead to realize that somehow he had maintained this piece of his childhood. “Good Christ! I sound pathetic! Like a Chinese fortune cookie.”

Brian slunk his body further down the couch cushions. He reached behind the couch to pull the quilt over him. He was liking the voice on the other end. He could talk to him for hours. The Captain Astro comic slid with him. Since it had almost cost a near fortune, Brian wondered if he really needed to take better care of the issue. “No, come on. It sounded pretty good, not pathetic. How about this one ... it hangs in my office at home ... ‘Fear is the prison of the heart’? Now, if that isn’t a piece of advice I should take, I don’t know what is. But, I liked yours better. Sage advice from an older peer?” Brian tucked himself under the quilt resting on his side on the pillow behind his head.

“You could say that. He wasn’t really a person, but you could say he shaped me as a child growing up.”

“Interesting. That you could find comfort in that at such an early age. Hell ... and still fuckin’ remember the words, by heart, even now.”

“I was into comics. Still am, but like you, I hide it behind my gruff exterior. I feel like I’ve come home in a comic book store.”

“Any super hero you admired?” Brian was only asking so he could use the information with his newest client, Dalyn28. “I’m assuming with the way you’ve been talking to me that you’re gay, so I’m gonna try not to peg you as liking Batman, Superman or Spiderman ... although Incredible Hulk might be more your kind of man.”

“I get it. Comic Book Profiling. I didn’t think it existed, but you’ve proved me wrong, Brian. I don’t go for big muscles, just the most important one ... and that whole ‘green’ thing just worries me. I can understand the dormant anger, but ... nope, sorry. My favorite hero isn’t on everyone’s list. He got kind of a bad reputation as having quasi-homosexual undertones in the storylines. I don’t know why I hooked onto him so quickly. I guess I sort of pitied him, in a way. All the boys were drooling over Spidey and Batboy, but my Captain was left in the dust. He was just so fuckin’ cool.”

Brian pulled out the crinkled comic book from under the quilt. “The Adventures of Captain Astro and Galaxy Lad?” This was growing into too much of a coincidence.

“Yeah, that’s it. You don’t mean to tell me that in a city of millions, I can’t find one fan of the Captain, but I discover a phantom number on my cell phone and find a fellow admirer?”

“New found. I just bought a copy of the first issue. A client of mine recommended it to me. Thought I should start from the beginning. I even went to the store he recommended, Buzzy’s Comics.”

Michael began to think back a few weeks ago to sending out an e-mail to a **_“Bkinney”_** e-mail address. This was turning into being the most important phone call he’d ever made in his life. “Oh, Shit! You are NOT going to believe this, Brian.”

“What?”

“I’m **DALYN28**.” Michael decided to sit up in bed for this epiphany. “It stands for NY Lad Age 28, backwards.”

Brian sat up on the couch as the news was revealed to him. What a fuckin’ messed up world! Sometimes the cruel hand of fate worked magic when you least expected it. “Well ... fuck me!”

Michael smirked, hoping that his tease came through the line. “Hey, Bri, if that super hero you drew for me is anything at all what you look like ... I. Am. So. There.”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Michael hung up after another half hour talking with Brian. He couldn’t stop the smile from escaping his lips. He wanted to cry, real tears, not being able to actually see ... touch ... feel this man. Christ! Talk about having a pathetic obsession for a super hero. Reaching for the robe on the end of his bed, Michael walked the long trek to his small office. His I-Mac stood always connected to the Internet by cable modem. He threw himself in the seat, sending the chair rolling over the hardwood surface. He shook the mouse to restart the black screen to show his files and icons. Clicking on his Internet server, Michael plugged in his e-mail address and password. As he waited for the entire screen to pop up, he leaned back in his chair placing the palms of his hands over his eyes. What a fucked up night of freak show proportions!

He couldn’t believe the way his life was turning out. Somewhere he’d gotten the courage to finally write out his dream idea of creating his own comic book. On a whim he’d been searching for a graphic artist company willing to draw up a spec picture just on the basis of a few descriptive words and images to work off of. The more popular, respectable ones laughed at his inexperience. B. Kinney, owner and sole operator of Lazarus Inc., had been one of a few up-n-coming artists willing to take on Michael’s challenge.

The renditions he’d received from the other companies looked shameful compared to Kinney’s take on Michael’s instructions. Then, came the interesting extra bits that had arrived, as well. A few names for the super hero, a few different costumes and then the idea of who could be his sidekick. The sad sack of shit who was second banana to the hero, sometimes being the hero himself. Michael was blown away by how much Kinney had put into his work. He researched and did background checks in order to show that he knew his stuff, or could at least bullshit his way through. After it all, Michael was impressed and he chose Lazarus, Inc. as his illustrator. He was growing excited again to know that someone understood his dream. Now, to know that it was the voice behind the phantom phone number was tickling his frozen heart.

Michael noticed that his inbox hadn’t been emptied in days. 150 messages unread? Shit! He must have been preoccupied. Most of them were probably junk anyway. He moved the mouse to click on the oldest message. He was in search of Brian’s letter, but it was most likely at the top of the list. Michael thought he’d never get through all the crap before he came to some of his important ones. He found “BKinney” with no problem.

For two weeks, they’d corresponded, never knowing how connected they’d actually become. Somehow Brian’s number had gotten in his call log and Michael had been curious to the frequency of the calls. Calling the number had been a whim. He didn’t know that this would lead him to find his illustrator behind the other line. Michael silently hoped that this would just lead them to a long relationship of some sort. They had the communication thing down, which was odd. Since his years away from Pittsburgh, Michael had turned away from the world, only allowing a few select people into his life. People who he felt safe with.  
 ****

 **> >>>>>>>>>>>>>>EMAIL for Michael C. Novotny>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>**  
 **SUBJECT:** RE: My Amazing F**kability  
 **DATE:** 06/19/03 01:00:52am Eastern Standard Time  
 **From:** Bkinney@penn.net  
 **To:** Dalyn28@yahoo.com

 **Okay. All right. Confession time. It’s me. The super hero is me. I have this mirror I work off of, freestanding near my desk, to help me with animating different expressions. I had tried to use the men’s fashion magazines for a template, but the young men were either “too gay” and not buff enough, or too indifferent, emotionless, looking like the after effects of some good heroin binge. Someone needs to give these boys a personality or a decent hamburger with fries. I can’t believe men would actually pay more then two dollars for shit like this. It took me forty pages before I found a frickin’ article. Hell, I went back nearly ten times to look for the Table of Contents page ...**   
**> >>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>**

  
Michael was cracking up as he read along the letter. Everything Brian said was the truth. Laying on his computer desk was a copy of Details and GQ, his monthly subscription coming in right on time. He never bothered to really pay attention to what kind of culture he’d bought himself into, but it sure spoke of being distant and detached of society. Was he like the men in them? Callous and cold while appearing like they actually gave a shit about the world?

  
 **> >>>>>>>>>>>>>>EMAIL for Michael C. Novotny (cont'd)>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>**   
**So ... I take it you liked my drawings for the comic? I’m just taking a stab from your very cool response. (BTW, that was sarcasm.) I’m happy to have been the only man who could do the job for you. Makes me look REALLY good compared to all the others. And, you don’t have to use any of the names I gave you. I just labeled them as they looked to me. Those sidekick drawings were just a freebie. Batman had Robin. Your Captain had Galaxy Lad. Green Lantern had Kato. Every GREAT hero needs his Second Banana. Okay, so your e-mail said that you needed me to render some sketches for a “villain”.**

 **Your story for the first issue is awesome. I don’t know why you haven’t tried this adventure before. You’ve got quite a brilliant imagination. You must have been a really cute kid. Makes me wish I had known you back then. I think we would have been really great friends. I moved around so much in with my Dad constantly changing millwork locations (a little like the military brat) I never stayed at one place for too long. Pittsburgh was the exception. I guess Dad found his niche. He enrolled me in Bethel Park School district. We managed to remain in Pittsburgh and I graduated from Bethel Park High in 1989. Ho-hum ... boring, I know. My life is about as exciting as watching bugs fly into a bug light. Sorry, if I lost you way back when ...**

 **So, I’ll wait for you to send me feedback on what I’ve sent. See if I’m still fuckin’ amazin’ and brilliant. ‘Til then I’ll just go curl up in my corner ... in the fetal position ... muttering incoherent thoughts ... and not showering for days ... so, no rush ...  
Take Care,  
B. Kinney**   
**> >>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>**

  
Another epiphany struck Michael as he began to allow the added information about Brian Kinney sink into his head. Bethel Park School District was where he had gone in his kindergarten to middle school days. He didn’t recall a Brian Kinney in his class. Hmm, strange. Usually a few classmates slipped by you in the senior pictures for graduation. Since Michael never graduated from Bethel High, he didn’t have a yearbook to go by. He wondered if the class had their own website off the School District’s website.

Minimizing the screen, of Brian’s e-mail, for future prospects of downloading later, Michael plugged in the words “Bethel Park School District.” Yahoo’s managed to find him many variations of what he wanted, but one stuck out. He clicked on the site highlight for Bethel Senior High School. There he was led into a screen that told him of various links to separate classes that were coming up for reunions. This next year, 2004, would ear marks the class of ‘89's fifteen year reunion. Information said you could find who had already contacted the website’s host. If you wanted you could have your yearbook picture posted in another section, so people remembered what you looked like.

Michael found the list of attendees and soon discovered that Brian Kinney had popped up later in the list. He was link to the picture and soon found his window downloading the 18year old Brian in the window. Whew! The likeness between Brian and the super hero was uncanny. A colored photo showed a mop of light brown hair, sort of awkwardly parted off to one side, as if the last minute touch up gave him the “look” of an adult, or a grown-up. A high pale forehead sloped down to two of thick dark brown eyebrows, the right permanently arched over the corresponding eye. The Roman nose fit the face so beautifully, as if possibly never broken in its lifetime, which could be a good thing for a man with this kind of perfection in his features. The head was slightly tilted at the “Hi! I’m a senior taking a stupid fuckin’ picture to show I’m a senior.” and you wore your suit and tie, leaving the improper dress for the under class men.

The outfit worked for Brian, but Michael couldn’t help but feel that, throughout the day, Brian may have tugged on the tie more times then once. The beginning of a five o’clock shadow discolored his cheeks and upper lip, showing that Brian matured quicker then most boys his age. There was a sly glint in those amber colored eyes, hopefully depicting what truly lay underneath the spit and polish. To imagine what this picture looked like today was just leaving Michael completely unable to breath correctly. Screw the male models in those flimsy fashion mags ... he’d take a REAL man over gloss and shine any day.

Below Brian’s senior picture was an area to click on to show more photos of the person you’d found. Brian had two other pictures to view. The next one was his ACTUAL graduation picture, holding his diploma in his colored cap and gown. Standing between a tall, salt and pepper haired man and a medium height woman, in big shades. Neither touched nor hugged Brian in congratulations. Their smiles seemed forced and fake. Like someone had run around the field screaming “Hey, you? SMILE!” and then ran away very quickly. Poor Brian. Living under that kind of parenting must have been tough. Michael was grateful for the support of his Mom and Uncle Vic.

Never wanting to see that second photo again, Michael quickly clicked on the arrow for the next photograph. It was a sports activity. Appeared like soccer. Brian was in the middle of a cool, high-reverse kick. He wore the colors of the Bethel Park School District in his uniform. His perfectly combed hair was traded for a sweaty, mangy mop of twisted brown ringlets. Off in the distance, Michael could read a sign clearly stating the State Championship of 1986 hanging off the field bleachers.

Nineteen eighty-five was the year Michael had left Bethel Park, and Pittsburgh, to come live with Uncle Vic in New York. The more he concentrated on the picture of Brian, the more his eyes widened to discover a memory that had lay dormant since this very minute. This was the year that Michael shut his emotions down from everything, and everybody, excluding Vic and Ma. He came to New York to be the new version of Michael Charles Novotny. The one who didn’t get his ass kicked nearly every day.

A rooftop. In 1985. During gym class, running hurdles on the track, Michael had been tripped and teased, nearly kicked in the ribs by Brad Logan. The day Michael had learned the fierce side of hatred, but the warm, comforting hand of friendship had tried to replace the fear embedded in his belly. Not many boys liked Michael Charles Novotny. He was always wary when any boy made an attempt to be his friend. Usually Michael would get stabbed in the back. As his eyes readjusted to the outlined picture, Michael went to click on the upper toolbar that allowed him to increase his view. Zooming out, he was able to look a bit closer at the face.

Michael had never gotten the boy’s name, just the promise of a future lesson in ass-whoopin’. What Michael hadn’t been able to learn was that a week suspension would take Brian away from school. The added punishment, from his parents, would detain the “rebel” in Brian to escape his prison at home. What Brian didn’t know was that Michael had waited for Brian, behind the school, two days in a row. The first day was cool, Brad and his buddies had only verbally teased him, but the next day ... they had unleashed a Hell on Earth for Michael that had chased him away to another state. Debbie Novotny had tried to work with the Principal and School Board to get severe expulsions for the students who had harmed her baby, but they were too prominent in the community. Besides, who was Michael Charles Novotny, anyway, to cause such an uproar in the school district?

Michael couldn’t bear to return, either. He couldn’t even face the boy who’d given him his first full contact kiss on the mouth. Even at that young age, Michael could tell what a good kisser Brian would be. He had gone home with such high hopes and new friend in his heart. The wait for Brian had been too much on his self-esteem. No one was worth the beating Michael had taken that afternoon in the school’s parking lot. It was fate telling him to slow down and be sure that his choices in life were going to shape him as the man he would become. Okay, but fate never told him how long he had to like being this way.

Sitting back in his chair, Michael let the revelation sink in him. Brian was his rooftop friend. The one who had showed him a kind, gentle hand over his painful bruises. Michael never forgot that. In fact, Michael never held a grudge against Brian for never showing up. Yeah, his heart was broken, literally shattered along with every bone in his face, but that sweet beautiful face was the one thing keeping Michael on the path to survival. Always thinking ... believing that one day ... well, that one day he would face the boy of his dreams as the man he wished he could be.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Relaxing back against the leather chaise lounge, Brian raised his arms over his head. “I had that dream again, Doc.”

“Which one?” The cool, detached voice spoke clearly.

 ** _“Mikey.”_** Brian shut his eyes to try and recall the images that had woken him from his nightmare early this morning. “And the rooftop.”

“What happened ... this time?” The voice sounded bored, as if he’d heard the tale plenty of times to recite it word for word.

“I watched him go over the side, like usual, but he held out his hand for me. I fell, face down, to the tarred surface, clinging to his small grip. He kept grinning at me, like he would understand if I let go ...”

“But you didn’t.” The voice supplied, not knowing if Brian would continue.

“I couldn’t ... well, not exactly. I didn’t want to, if you really want to know.” Brian moved his arms to fold across his chest and lace his fingers together. “Like always, I want to pull him up ... into my arms ... never letting go ...” Brian knew this must sound perverted to any ear, but the one listening was an expert on his quirks, especially his dreams of late. “But, it’s like he always knows ...”

“Knows what? That you let him go.” Accompanying the voice came a soft scribble of notes being taken on a yellow legal pad.

“That no matter what happens after we look at each other ... at least, I tried. He seems satisfied with that.” Brian reached up to pinch the bridge of his nose. “Man! I don’t know. He grins this stupid smirk, as it seems like his hand is covered in grease or that he purposefully loosens his grip on me. I can’t hold onto him tight enough. He drops out of sight ... but I don’t hear anything. His body doesn’t thud to the ground. He doesn’t scream. He doesn’t even manage to hit anything on the way down. Just ... silence ...”

“What do you do after that?”

“I crawl on my knees, only assured that I’ll find him sprawled, dead, on the concrete and loose gravel.” Brian made it sound like this part of his nightmares usually drove him nutty. The reason he was here, in this very room, talking to a fellow psychologist. He looked up and over to where his colleague sat off the upper right of his lounger/couch. “Jonah? Does any of this make sense to you?”

Jonah Wellerby looked over his glasses at Brian. “What’s a four-letter word for ‘coward’?” What Brian had thought of as note scribbling was actually filling in the blanks of the crossword puzzle

“Fuck!” Brian sat up on the couch, hands planted by his side on the soft leather. “Is that your diagnosis, Doc?”

“Sorry. I was paying attention, but you go on and on about this ‘Mikey’ shit like it’s the defining moment of your life.”

“It is ... thank you very much. And I’m being serious. I wish you wouldn’t play around with this issue to me. I became someone else I’m not really proud of being. It’s a hard thing for me to deal with under my own therapy. I come to you with this because I trust you. You’ve been there for Paige and I when we needed a good friend or a cheap babysitter. You’re like family, man.” Brian reached over to tap Jonah’s kneecap and was shocked to see his friend wince in his seat, pulling away from simple touch. “Christ! Are you all right?”

Jonah had worn his tan Dockers because they were light enough for the friggin’ heat wave today, dressier then his jeans for work, but also they covered the bruises on his knees and thighs, thus ending unnecessary questioning. “Don’t do that, dude! I played a mean game of racquet ball at the gym yesterday.”

Brian made a face like he hadn’t known what had happened, but he had sympathy for his friend. He wondered why they even got along as well as they did. Jonah had tried to win Paige’s affection from Brian in college. Then, it was absolutely no contest. Now, Brian had wished he had given in to Jonah when he had the chance. Well, that’s what he got for thinking they had mutually fallen in love for the same reason. Paige’s changed every day. She got more self-goal oriented and less on doing things for the benefit of her husband and children. “Paige mentioned you took her to lunch a few weeks ago. How did she seem to you?”

Jonah rolled his eyes. “That was a huge mistake. She talked about nothing but work. How do you fuckin’ stand that drone, man? Brings blood to my ears. ‘The Firm this ... The Firm that ... I’m gonna get partner soon ... blah, blah, blah ...’. I swear, I think I’d rather hear you go on about your Mikey dreams instead of her drivel”

“Come on ... tell me how you really feel.”

Jonah ran his hands through his shaggy mane of blond locks. He looked very uncomfortable in his casual clothing. He appeared too much like a surfer, misplaced in the wrong profession. “Good Glory! Some days I thank God that I let you slide in to take Paige away from me. What I would sacrifice just to NOT have to live with that pod person she’s become.”

“I thought it was just me.” Brian snickered at the sound of the truth coming out of someone else’s mouth. He didn’t feel so alone in his misery anymore.

“So ... should I plan on seeing you this Sunday for Marshall’s birthday?” Jonah had needed to change the subject, but realized he had probably mentioned something that Brian hadn’t told him yet. How could he recover?

Brian’s brow furrowed in bewilderment. Jonah had said he hadn’t spoke to Paige since weeks ago. The birthday dinner, for Sunday, had only just been arranged. Dates weren’t gelling well for Brian’s head to wrap around. “How did you find out about it so quickly?”

Jonah let out a nervous laugh. “Your Mom, dude. She’s got my number on fuckin’ speed dial. I think she wants to either adopt me as her second son, or she’s got some nasty-assed, pimply faced young woman to pawn off to the world. She meets the ‘nicest’ girls at church.” Jonah said the last part in a voice very much like Joan Kinney.

Brian had to laugh heartily at the dead-on copy of his Mom’s voice. Those would be the exact words Joan would use. In fact, that was how he and Paige first met. Joan had met a “nice, sweet” girl at a Sunday church service. Only hearing half of the conversation, Joan had come home with a perfect woman for her son. She never caught the part where Paige had said she was interested in another boy, Jonah. Brian had been in a relationship funk all during high school. Joan had thought a whole new world was opening up for her beautiful son. She had such high hopes for having the daughter-in-law of her dreams, with grandchildren being optional. Brian had delivered on all counts. Joan should have been happy.

Jonah watched Brian closely, making sure he had been able to cover his ass well. Paige wouldn’t like him slipping. He would have to pay ... and pay ... and pay.

Brian quickly stood up from his seat on the couch. “Yeah, I guess I’m gonna have to show my ugly mug at this thing ... if you’re gonna be there.”

“Hey! I never told Joan whether I was going to be there or not.” Jonah sounded defensive.

“And you’re gonna leave it until zero hour, like you usually do, when you know very well you can put yourself out of this misery by just calling her.” Brian flipped his wrist to check the time. “She should be out of her Bible class around eleven. Home to make a light lunch for her and Pop at exactly eleven fifteen.”

“Shit! You’ve never said she was THAT anal.” Jonah shot out of his chair, the crossword puzzle book falling to the floor, as he made a mad dash towards his desk phone. He paused with the extension in his grasp, fingers on the buttons to press. “Bri?”

“Yeah?” Brian had chuckled on his way to the door of Jonah’s office. He already had the door open, resting the knob in his hand.

“We’re cool here, right?”

Brian knew that Jonah was uncomfortable giving friends and family free therapy sessions. He wanted to tell Jonah that usually it was just good enough to say words out loud, then to let them fester in his head. Almost being his own psychiatrist, since Jonah would lose his train of thought very easily. But then there were the times that Brian got a “kick” out of messing with Jonah, making him seem truly crazy, possibly certifiable. “Cool about what?” Brian played innocent, crinkling his brow in question.

“Uh ... well, you know ...” Jonah wondered if Brian had noticed the slip earlier and began to think something peculiar about him and Paige.

“Whatever I’m supposed to have gotten my panties in a bunch over can’t be anything worse then death ... so I guess, yeah, Jonah, we’re cool!” Brian shut the door on Jonah’s wide open mouth. Now, THAT was very interesting! To say the least.

Learning that Jonah and Paige might be carrying on under the guise of her and Brian’s marriage didn’t leave a bad feeling inside of his belly. Maybe five years ago, Brian would have tried to work at saving his wedded bliss, but the last few years hadn’t lived up to much but dwelling in the same house. It was time to change the scenery a bit. And the first thing to go was his fuckin’ ties! Pulling forcibly at the knot at his Adam’s Apple, Brian yanked the cheap cloth until the two lengths hung down his shirt. He unbuttoned the first tie right at his throat, feeling as if he could suddenly breathe again.

His suit jacket hanging over his forearm, Brian felt the beginning of a new attitude ... a new way of living. He wondered WHO could have begun the *spark* in his body to want to start over again? For the first time in his adult life, Brian finally knew what it felt like to feel the anticipation of something good coming his way. But something reminded him that for the wine to be sweet, he’d have to smoosh a lot of sour grapes.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Michael didn’t know how he managed to do it, but he’d swindled a deal with Vic for a few days off. Maybe it was the promise of relieving his constantly terrorized sister, Debbie, about her son. For the first time in years, Michael was contemplating returning to The Pitts. The problem was he was going to try avoiding the Novotny house as best he could. He was on a mission and his plan didn’t include his mother at all. She would be his last resort, should things go haywire.

For the very first time in his adult life, Michael Charles Novotny was going to go after the man of his dreams. Albeit a married man, but a man in need of just as much from him as the other way around. Something in Michael’s soul spoke a clear thought that getting further in his life would require returning to moments in his past he’d chosen to erase. Granted you couldn’t change the past, one could only change the future. That was the Big Plan.

Of course, this didn’t change the working relationship with Brian, but in order for things to move forward, for Michael, he needed to confront his fears. Pittsburgh and his old haunts were first on his list. He had no idea of where Brian was in Pittsburgh, but was sure that once he tried hard enough, finding the way wouldn’t be difficult. Today was Thursday. He’d leave first thing in the morning in order to map out his Big Plan.

Michael’s only thought was that he hoped that Brian would be as receptive into seeing him for the first time as he was in seeing Brian. Maybe they could both help each other to move on. If Michael got anything out of this adventure, he hoped to at least be able to call Brian Kinney one of his best friends.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Brian stood at his bedroom bay window watching Paige direct the tent rental company where to place the canopy for Sunday’s barbeque in her father’s honor. The two-acre backyard left plenty of room to set the area up, but it was his wife’s ever-changing mind that became the frustration. He could understand right where the four men wished they could really put this freakin’ tent as they followed Paige around on the freshly mowed lawn. He heard the faint footsteps behind him, turning to face Jesse as she walked into the room. Immediately, Brian couldn’t help but smile as he watched his crazy, spiteful, beautiful daughter approach at his left side. They both swiveled to appreciate the efforts Paige Kinney was making for her father’s birthday celebration.

“Hey.” Jesse softly greeted her Dad as she crossed her arms in a similar fashion. She glanced down at her mother pacing the backyard, pointing to where she wanted the tent to be.

“Hey, Jess.” Brian began to grow uncomfortable in these private moments with his daughter. When she was younger, holding her hand and kissing her soft, pale skin was easy. Now, she had a reputation that couldn’t be tarnished by parental figures. He ached to hold her close, show her that at least one of her parents loved her for who she was. Brian was afraid he’d scare her away.

“Think Grandpa will like this kind of shindig for his B-Day?” Jesse was unsure of how to be around her father lately. He seemed so disinterested in his life. Did that include her, too?

“Absolutely ... not.” Brian laughed outright, wondering if that would break the uneasiness between them.

Jesse chuckled heartily, nodding her head in understanding. “Dad, ...”

Brian hadn’t realized how long it had been since Jesse had directed any of her conversations to him. How awful was it that Brian could help his clients in their own relationships, but be such a failure in his own life? “Yeah, Jess.”

“Are you okay?” Jesse bit the bullet. She’d been worried for too long about her Dad. Now was her time to grab his attention.

Brian could barely swallow his next breath. Christ! What in the world had she seen? “Wha-? Why? What do you mean?”

Jesse placed her arms behind her back, beginning to sway, using the tips of her sneakers to trace a pattern on the floor. “I don’t know, Dad. Things seem to be getting worse between you and Mom, not better. I’ve overheard a few of your fights lately ... and I think you’ve just given in. You don’t stick up for yourself any more.” She thought she better explain her questioning. “I’m not nosey, or nothin’, but it’s kind of hard not to notice when you disappear for days. And when you are home, you look like you don’t wanna be. Then Mom lights into you, picking apart everything you do ... and you let her do it.” Jesse shrugged, wondering who was the source of all her parents’ battles. “I guess ... I just wanna be sure ...” This was the moment she decided she had to face her Dad directly, looking into his mesmerizing hazel eyes. The tears began to pool quickly. She’d had too many long months to think this over. “Is any of it because of me?”

That was the clincher for Brian. The moment that broke the barrier between them. “Good God! No!” He immediately turned to hold her close in his embrace. She was growing so tall, like him. Her head could tuck right at his heart level. He felt her face bury in his shirt as her once confident arms came around his waist. “What would give you the idea that your mother and I were fighting over you?”

“I don’t know.” Jesse mumbled in the delicate cloth under her face. Man, how long had it been since she’d felt this much love from either of her parents? She literally sank into those loving, attentive arms that she knew were hidden behind her Dad’s hard veneer. The one he continually disappeared behind because of her mother. “She seems to come seek me out more often. Picking on me and stuff. Like nothing I do is ever good enough.”

“Jess, I’m afraid that nothing ever will be good enough for your mother. Hell, I don’t even seem to please her any more.”

Jesse paused their swaying. “Dad, should you even be telling me this?”

Brian chuckled deeply and was thrilled to find it tickled Jesse’s eardrum enough for her to bury further into him. “Why not? You’re a part of this marriage as much as we are. I loved your mother enough once to want to bring you into this world. I don’t ever regret that, as much as you think I do. I’m not stupid to think I can do this on my own. I sure didn’t mess it up alone. I need every single player in this house to help me. I’ve got so much more to learn. Problem is, Jess, I think your mother thinks she needs to keep fighting her battles as a solo mission. She forgets that this is a family.”

“What do we do to get her back?”

“I’m all out of ideas. What do you think we should do?” Brian pressed kisses to the crown of Jesse’s mix of blond/brown hair, gently petting the silky locks down her back.

Her arms still around her Dad’s waist, Jesse tilted her head to look up. “Run away.”

Brian was about to laugh again when he saw the hilarity disappear from Jesse’s face. He brought his hands up to cup her sweet face in his palms. “You’re serious, aren’t you?” His hazel eyes look intently into her teary eyes. “Honey ... Jess ... sweetheart, why didn’t you say something to me?” The back of his fingers caressed her moist cheeks, wiping away the evidence of her long-suffering emotions.

Hoping to be able to get through what she had to say, Jesse spoke as clearly as she could. “It took me awhile to find you ... Daddy.” She tried to wipe at her own eyes before her Dad could. This was so embarrassing.

Tears began to pool in his eyes as she blankly told him he’d been gone too long. He’d been thinking about his himself for longer then needed. The fact that she’d gone back to calling him “Daddy” was a knife in his own heart. “I know, sweetie. I’m sorry.” He hugged her to him again. “I’m so sorry, Jess. I’m here now. I’m here to listen to anything you have to tell me.”

“Are you sure?” Jesse was not going to allow this opportunity to go to waste.

Brian walked them over to the window seat, in the bay window, wondering what more Jesse had to reveal. “What do you mean?” The way his daughter was looking at him, Brian figured she had a hell of a fucking story to tell him. One that they had better talk about sitting down.

“Well ... I’m afraid it’s not good. And I didn’t see this for myself.”

Brian was growing more worried by the minute. He had some idea it pertained to Jesse herself. “Whatever it is, Jess, I’m not gonna get upset with you.”

“Even if Aunt Claire knows, too.”

Brian rolled his eyes at the mention of his weak, mild-mannered sister who never could keep her nose out of everyone’s business. “What does she know?”

“Actually, it’s something John saw ... and it involves Mom and Uncle Jonah ...” Jesse didn’t know how much further she should go.

“Hey, Jess,” Brian grabbed for one of his daughter’s hands, keeping it in his own. “Like I told you, I’m here and I’m listening ...”

Brian never knew what kind of devastation he’d spiral into until Jesse told him the entire story.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Sunday morning loomed bright and glorious for Michael, as he flipped over in the hotel room’s large king-sized bed. Fuck! He couldn’t even believe he was here. Pittsburgh hadn’t changed much, just got a little crowder, like it needed overpopulation. When he’d first arrived, he’d spent Friday searching for a Brian Kinney who matched his picture. It seemed easier to use the copies of the senior yearbook photos as a reference. No one spoke, or thought, ill of Michael since he’d carried the story of searching for his old childhood buddy that he’d lost touch with. Maybe it was the tale Michael had woven around their supposed history that made their reconnecting seem more meaningful, tugging at every stranger’s heartstrings.

Michael had only driven by Brian’s lovely mansion once, finding that knocking on the door right now would just be too surreal. He needed a day, or so, to cope. So Saturday, yesterday, Michael had finally found the courage to return to Bethel Park and the middle school parking lot where his old life had been left behind. The fucked-up, selfish Michael Charles Novotny soon discovered how quickly he could find “Mikey” still locked inside himself, wanting to get out, screaming for release.

He had thought no one was looking when he suddenly dropped to his knees to the rough surface. The school must have revamped a few spaces, finding monies where they could rub the cobwebs of youth away. Funny, how Michael had wished the school had given him some of that money so he could redesign himself. Make his past a little less dark and menacing. Why had he been so afraid? After all it was just a moment in time, but the more Michael was beginning to learn was that he wasn’t the only one affected by this day.

The familiar scraping sound of steel-toed work boots scuffed upon the gravel and paved parking lot. “Mike?” The gruff voice was unmistakable even by the passing years. The gentle hand over his shoulder seemed to bring him right back to that very moment Mr. Alan Silverstein, the middle school’s janitor, had found his young friend laying here almost twenty years ago. “Michael?”

Michael had to find his lungs again as he tried to find his way back to the present. No one had known who had discovered him, laying broken and battered, possibly left for dead all those years ago. Michael did. “Al? Is that you?” Grabbing the wrinkled hand from his shoulder, trying to get up on his shaking feet, Michael continued to hold that rough warm hand. It was the hand that had soothed him on the way to the hospital. It was the friendly hand that patted him on the back when every one of his classmates thought he was a freak. It was one of the hands that he had the privilege of feeling pure unconditional love from, just like with his Ma and Uncle Vic.

Tears fell from those steel grey eyes, as Alan could barely find the words to say what he wanted. “Kid, you made it? I woulda thought ... I didn’t hear nothin’ ... I went to the hospital as much as I could ...”

Michael held that one hand to his heart, kissing the palm. “I know, Al. Ma told me what you did. It really wasn’t necessary.” He shook his head never believing such tender loving care could come from a scraggily looking man like the janitor.

Alan pulled his hand from Michael’s grasp. “Wasn’t necessary? Mike, I didn’t care who my kids were, who they came from or where they were gonna end up. They was part of my school and my clock ... for those eight hours, and sometimes the extra curricular stuffs, but they was mine ... my responsibility.” Alan cupped the nape of Michael’s neck bringing him close to his face. “You were my responsibility that day, Mike. I shoulda been there. I shoulda told my story to the Principal and Vice-Principal. I shoulda believed you when you warned me about them boys.”

Michael was too choked up to think that Alan could have been worried this long about him. If only he had known and just sent simple letters or a kind word of thanks to Alan. Show him that things were okay, never good, just okay. He pulled the sweet kind soul into his arms, hugging him close, hoping to wash away years of regrets. “The apologizing needs to come from me, Al. I didn’t mean to forget about you, leave you wondering about me all these years.”

Alan knew today his life was going to change. “Hey, they’re tryin’ to get me to retire this year.”

Michael was bewildered to know that Alan was still a part of the school system. “Really? So what was holding you back?”

“I had to be sure you always had a way of finding me, so that the one day you came back ... some day ... I’d be able to make sure my boy was all right before I moved on.” Alan had no idea how he’d gotten that whole sentence out of his mouth without breaking down.

Michael covered his shaking lips. It blew him away, the amount of love he had walked away from by leaving Pittsburgh. Love he had been sorely in need of. “You stayed ... for me?” Michael barely choked the words out.

Wiping away the tears, Alan gave his usual smirk he used on the other kids when he felt like being cantankerous. “Well, not just you ... I had to be sure somebody took care of Marley while you were gone.”

Michael was shocked by the news. “Marley is still alive?!”

Alan chuckled to see the tears suddenly dry up on Michael’s sweet, innocent face, like he was a kid again. Those wide chocolate brown eyes full of wonder and amazement. He had no idea how beautiful they were to see again, until this very moment. “Well, kid, not exactly, more like Marley’s descendants.” He wrapped a friendly arm about Michael’s neck, pulling him close to whisper in his ear. “I’ll let you walk around with me. I’ll show you Rockem & Sockem. And, boy, do I have some interesting stories to fill you in on.”

Michael followed Alan into the school, staying for a total of three and a half hours. From that time together, spending Alan’s lunch hour with him, he learned quite few things he was glad he had returned to Pittsburgh to find out. Debbie had never bothered filling her son in on what had happened to the boys that had teased, taunted and then eventually attacked him that fateful day.

Brad Logan owned and operated his own mechanic/lube/oil change shop, looked fifty pounds overweight and was working on his fourth divorce. He’d quit high school in his sophomore year when his father lost his mill job after the yearly downsizing of the company.

The two so-called friends of Brad’s became far worse off then anyone. Dave Kane had gone on to sink further into alcohol & drugs and tried his hand at felony crimes, instead of minor misdemeanors. Currently serving time in the county correctional unit for deadly assault on a police officer.

Rodney Sellers never made it to senior year as a running back in Bethel Park’s varsity football team. Homecoming game led Rodney to go for the goal that would win this one for the school. Except Rodney had a hard time concentrating on the game as he had just learned he was going to be a father in seven months from his girlfriend of two years and that Penn State had sent a talent scout to check him out in action. Like clockwork, Rodney had caught the ball, knowing that the school would appreciate him placing his private life over their championship record. What Rodney didn’t know was that there were other talent scouts in the audience looking at the opposing team players. Three players tackled Rodney one-by-one, sending him head first into the newly placed astro turf and leaving him spending the remainder of his life in a wheelchair as a paraplegic.

Christ! What the hell had happened while he’d been gone? Like the Revenge Fairy had attacked while the poker was still hot. Michael had spent his freshman year of high school at home, having Debbie teach him from books he would have been reading for himself. That was also the same year Michael had to learn to do all basic human activities again. Talking, eating and walking, for starters. That whole year he’d wanted nothing more then to run away, but not until he could open a can of “whoop ass” on the boys who had been his tormentors in school. Once he had gotten better, Michael could have cared less about his life in Pittsburgh. For him it was over and time to reinvent a new Michael, somewhere new. Little did he realize that fate would work her hand and take care of everything for him. One by one the boys the school had coddled and embraced did harm to themselves which didn’t look good for the school, or harmed the school which would eventually be hurtful to them. Either way, Michael found such flimsy satisfaction in learning this news.

Hence his reason for laying wide awake at seven forty-five the next morning. The other one being the man behind the photograph laying on his naked chest, directly over his steadily beating heart. The man he’d come home for. He’d been carrying the object around in his hands, and pocket, for so long now that the edges were fraying, from common wear and tear. Except that every night since he’d discovered his Brian was the young boy from the rooftop nearly twenty years ago, he’d clutched that stupid, smarmy highschool yearbook picture as if drawing some weird power from it. His dreams were much more vivid, like his happy ending was growing closer. He just had to find the guts to step forward and claim what should have been his all those years ago. Not as Michael Charles Novotny, 33year-old from New York, but Mikey, barely 14years-old, broken, battered and in dire need of a friend ...

Brian had been “his”, first ... never got the chance to win Brian’s heart ... could life be so cruel as to take away everything in Michael’s world that could bring him complete happiness? No, of course not. One just had to be brave enough to step on that ledge and take the jump. He only hoped that Brian would be there, like he had been twenty years ago, to catch him should he fall.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Brian was standing on the back porch watching the rest of his life unfold as his family tried to mingle with Paige’s extended bunch. Marshall was allowed to man the grill as this was his birthday. Brian didn’t really know what else he’d be good for except hanging off his wife’s arm. Joan was at her best, wearing her casual church going clothes and maintaining her alcohol consumption to fruity beverages. Claire was screaming for her children to stop messing with all the things in the yard and feeding her little ones off her plate. It took Brian a few more minutes then usual, but he found the next person he wanted to make sure was having fun. There by the pool side sat Jack Kinney, under an umbrella, sipping on a cool iced tea.

Jack gave him a secret wave, rolling his eyes. Brian laughed and decided to make his one venture out on the lawn, into the miles of strange faces. He crept up to the side of Jack’s wheelchair. “Hey, Pop.” Placing a kiss to Jack’s right temple, Brian placed a comforting hand on his father’s shoulder. “Nice to see you out and about. How are the treatments going?”

“Shitty, but what can you expect? I was already too far gone when they began.” Jack reached up to pat his son’s hand in thankfulness. His throat was scratchy and his voice warbled from the radiation and chemo. The salt and pepper hair was shaved close to his head. “Thank your wife for inviting me. The Warden usually doesn’t let me out too much.”

“She’s just worried, Pop. The treatments leave you very weak and she has to watch you with a very close eye.” Brian removed his hand knowing that this new closeness he and Jack were forming was kind of still at its awkward stage. “You seen the kids?”

“Claire’s brats?”

“No.” Brian snickered at the inside joke. “Jess was looking forward to seeing you. Uh, I don’t know where Bram’s gotten to.”

“She brought me the tea. Bram brought me some food ... cookies or some fruity biscuity thing. My stomach’s not in good shape today.” Jack squinted up at Brian as he continued to stand, hands in his pockets and turned to look at all the unfamiliar faces. “Sit down, son. Take a load off.” Jack patted the lawn chair that he would have sat in had he not brought his wheelchair.

“I think I will.” Brian took the seat wondering how he was going to explain this to his father. “Pop ... are you happy?”

“What do you mean, boy?”

“I don’t know.” Brian shrugged, feeling the old uneasiness around Jack. “I guess what I’m really asking is ... has there ever been a moment in your life where you felt the purest sense of happiness, or joy, and you wished you could go back ... some how change a second of time? Make another choice or turn another corner? Think it’s possible to believe that one single decision could change your whole life?”

Jack took a sip of his tea, keeping the glass on his thigh. The coolness felt good against the heat of his skin. “What’s going on, Brian?” His voice got low, almost at a whisper. He continued to make faces that showed that he and Brian weren’t getting into much topics of discussion. Don’t cause a scene. Joan’s favorite expression to stop the unloading of too much drama.

Brian ran his fingers through his hair ruffling up his once perfectly combed locks. He actually looked better rumpled and slightly imperfect. “Paige and I have been drifting apart. She’s gettin’ more ambitious for her career. I’m trying to spend less and less time at home, just to avoid her. Unfortunately that has caused two things to happen. One, the kids think that I’m being the worst father ever and two, Paige has been sleeping with my best friend. A best friend, a fellow colleague, who I’ve been seeing in my own therapy sessions, Jonah Wellerby.”

“Have I met this man before?”

“Why do you ask?” Brian thought this was a weird question to ask with what he had just revealed.

“So I know who I’m going to have to be upset with around the dinner table.” Jack reached out to pat the exposed forearm of his son. “Look, I realize that I haven’t been much of a father through your childhood, and most of your adult life, but for whatever time I have left, I want you to know that I’m here for you if you need someone to talk to ... or just to listen. I’m done laying judgement on people. There’s something very humbling about being at the End of Life tunnel and being pulled back. I truly believe that if you hadn’t been there, at the house when I collapsed, that I would have been far worse off. I know how terrible and terrorizing I had been to you, yet you still came to my rescue.”

Brian lay a hand over Jack’s knee, showing how willing he was to put the past behind him. Seeing how much Jack suffered through his cancer steadily showed Brian that letting go of his childhood pain was the only way to cope. Jack and he still weren’t close, probably never would be, but they were tolerable. “You met him once, or twice, back in college, but not since then.” He looked out amongst the backyard of people he knew nothing about. “I’m leaving, Pop.”

“Lucky you. Wish I could go with you.” Jack kept up the appearance as if nothing was amiss.

“Pop ... I’m not just leaving the party. I’m leaving Paige ... and this life I never wanted. I’m taking the kids with me.” Brian waited, in the silence, expecting to hear Jack’s rage.

“Like I said, lucky you. Get the fuck out while you can. Wait too long and she’ll know how to snag you back.”

Brian knew from what Jack was saying. Never shoulda been a family man, son. That had been the one mantra drilled into Brian’s head, besides Jack’s backhand. “I don’t know where I’m going, or where I’ll be. I think somewhere else in PA ... I’ve even been seriously thinking about New York.” That simple idea sped up Brian’s adrenaline. Getting to Michael would be his next step, once he got out of this house. He just hoped that Michael didn’t mind children.

Jack continued to remain calm, nodding his head. He knew Brian was looking for a stamp of approval. To know that what he was about to do was right. “New York is a good place to lose yourself in.” Jack eyed Brian out of the corner of his eye. Placing his glass back on the table, he leaned forward prepared to give his answer the only way he knew how. “Did I ever tell you about Danny Metcalf and Vinnie Carney?”

Brian had rested his arms on his thighs, head in his hands. He lifted his head, wondering what kind of disjointed crappy tale Jack was about to weave. “Uh, yeah ... I think you worked with them.” Nights spent at the Union Hall, sharing a scotch and bourbon, Brian had heard plenty of stories.

Jack put out his two hands, palms up. “Vinnie, my manager and Danny, my supervisor. Tough men. They were about as roughneck as men of our generation could be. Though every once-n-awhile, Vin would bring in ripe vegetables and fruits, claiming they were from his wife’s garden. Danny brought the most delicious cakes and pies. Homemade, not from the box. He remained a bachelor all the years I knew him, so it never entered our mind that no one but his Mom would have made those desserts.” Jack resettled his body in the wheelchair, pushing closer to Brian. “Danny loved his Mom. The day she died the whole mill grieved. Everyone believed that the desserts were no more, except they continued even after her funeral. Soon Danny was getting these pretty flower arrangements on his desk, which he would take to place on his Mom’s grave.”

“Three months passed, Vinnie started telling his dream of retiring to sail the sea. Buy a boat and live out the rest of his life on the water. No one knew about Vinnie’s dream, or that he had studied marine biology in college. Kind of wanted to be the next Jacques Costeau. Danny’s uncle passed and decided to leave his only living male relative the family business. A falling apart crab and shrimp boat. Danny though what a wonderful thing to do on the weekends, but found out he loved it more then he thought. Vinnie got wind of Danny’s hobby and asked to come along one weekend. A week later both men retired early and collected their pensions from the mill.” Jack watched Brian as he sat, silent and contemplative, possibly wondering what he was supposed to get out of the story. “What I’m trying to tell you, son, despite what I may think about what it appears to look like ... two fags running off to be together ... I can’t help but think they had more balls then I ever did. They seized the day. Made a snap decision and I bet you dollars to donuts they’re fucking happier then any of us could ever wanna be.”

Brian was making like he was going to stand from his chair, but instead he knelt at his father’s feet and enveloped the hard, weathered shadow of a man he once feared. Sickness had still made Jack smart mouthed and opinionated, but he had this “inner knowledge” of what lay beyond this life. Knocking on death’s door left one able to view reality in a different frame of mind. Choosing to not sweat the small stuff allowed you to cope with the Big Stuff. He knew he had shocked Jack, who could barely take his next swallow as he tried to wrap his arms around Brian’s span of shoulders. Without saying one word, Brian knew Jack was trying to say so much more then he could. Jack understood that it would take a lot more years for Brian to acknowledge any “love” Jack claimed to have for him. He gave him a final squeeze, whispering close to his ear. “I will call you ... as soon as I find a place for the kids and I ...” Brian allowed a hand to cup Jack’s white five o’clock shadow. “I promise, Pop.” He wanted eye contact with Jack so that nothing could be mistaken.

Jack grabbed on to Brian’s wrist, wondering if he would ever see his beautiful son again if he should ever get called “home”. “Do you need any money?” He made a stupid weak maneuver to reach for his wallet. “I know a few of the guys from work ... they might be able ...”

“No connections. No ties. I have to break all contact with family. My only connection will be through you.” Brian placed his hand behind Jack’s head to bring their foreheads together. “I just found you a year ago, Pop. This is one bond I will not sever, unless someone, up above, takes you away. Jess would never forgive me.” Getting up from his knees, Brian found that Jack didn’t want to let go of him. He had to go, now ... while Paige suspected nothing. Tears pooling in his hazel eyes, Brian dragged himself away from his father as he placed a loving kiss to the crown of his shaved head. “Take care of yourself, Pop ... love you ...” He turned his back as quickly as he arrived, leaving Jack with his eyes closed. He was attempting to control his emotions in front of the guests.

Jack looked up, after a few minutes, feeling a tightness in his chest where his heart was. He prayed to God for small favors. Keep Brian and his grandchildren safe. In the next month or so, Jack wanted to see them and know that they were happy. He wished he could express his love to Brian better, maybe God had plenty of grace to allow him to survive his illness long enough to make sure Brian made it. That would be his only desire ... possibly his last dying wish ....

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Michael sat in the parked rental car, fighting with himself in his head. He was parked on the street across from Brian’s home. Shit! He pounded the steering wheel. Where had all these cars come from? They must be holding some kind of party. He pinched the ridge of his nose. He should have called. Made arrangements.

The keys were in the ignition, ready for him to turn the engine over. Michael wanted nothing more then to put his right foot on the gas and think “lead” thoughts. Get out of this fucking neighborhood!! How in the world could he have thought he belonged here? Could convince Brian ... of what, exactly? To leave his family? To leave his wife? What kind of a freakin’ lunatic would that make him?

Michael sat, his arm perched on the sill of the open driver’s window. He could faintly hear the hired small orchestra playing classical music. Where was a good rock band when you needed it? Opening the car door, Michael stepped out leaning back against the sturdy structure. He wiped the sweat on his jeans. The breeze was cool in the air. Today was one of the first tolerable days with the sun shining brightly.

Michael watched the front door, arched near the circular drive, as more people seemed to arrive. “Go! I’m going! Go!” He pushed off the car, running a hand through his hair. “Fuck! Shit! Coward!” He got as far as half way across the huge road and turned around. “What am I thinkin’?! What the hell am I doin’!?” Crossing his arms over his chest, Michael closed his eyes. “I should just bite the fuckin’ bullet and do it! Christ!” He placed the edge of his palms over his eyes, taking in a deep breath of courage. “I gonna do it! I gonna fuckin’ do it! What have I got to lose?” Michael shoved off his light jacket, feeling intense warmth infiltrate his body. As he walked across the street, jumped onto the sidewalk, he continued to ask himself. “What have I got to lose? What have I got to lose?” He was standing near the shrubbery and vines looping about the wrought iron gate surrounding the huge property. Michael put his hands over the bars, leaning his head to look at the house and yard through the tiny spaces. “What have I got to lose ... everything!” He sighed letting his head fall forward. Good God! He was scaring himself, what he was willing to do ... for love.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Brian had already placed Bram in his seat, using Jess as his go between to get all their luggage out of the house so all they had to do was pack the car outside. About an hour ago, Bram had hid upstairs, in his bedroom, already getting the first of many future scream fests from Paige about his uncontrollable behavior. She’d sent him to his room, without making sure how he was doing. Bram wasn’t stupid, he’d gathered enough provisions to last him for days. Except he’d eaten them all in twenty minutes. For the last fifteen minutes, Brian had been in the bathroom with Bram, trying to fend off an upset stomach. After a warm bath and changing into some comfortable clothes, Bram was growing tired. This would make their escape much easier to handle.

Jesse had every bag stacked in a row, ready to place inside the car, when she noticed a few onlookers watching them. Curious eyes whispered curious thoughts and soon she knew her mother would be coming to the porch. What she didn’t expect was her grandmother, Joan, there to grab her upper arm. “Ow-ch!”

“Where do you think you’re going, young lady?!” Joan nearly snarled into Jesse’s ear, pulling her up from the front steps. “Think you can sneak away ... run to some other family and live in their house?”

“Anything to get away from you!” Jesse tried to yank her arm away from Joan’s tight clutches.

“Mom! Let her go.” Brian stood at the back of the Lincoln Navigator, prepared to do battle any way he could to get Joan away from Jesse.

Joan was shocked to see Brian standing at the car. She loosened her hold on Jesse who ran for her father. “I wasn’t trying to hurt her, Brian. You know how spiteful and willful that child can be. I only thought to save you from having to send the police to find your runaway child.”

“I’m running away with her, Mom.” Brian kept Jesse held tight to his chest, as she wrapped her arm around his waist to show their equal support. “And I’m taking Bram, too.”

Joan could not believe what Brian was doing in front of all these people. People who were getting to know their family. “What has she told you?”

Brian feigned confusion. “Who has told me what?”

“Brian!?” Paige was drawing up near Joan, after passing her way through the crowds of interested people. Her fake plastered smiles resonated on her emotionless features. “Joan, what in the world is going on? I heard a little birdie claim there was a slight altercation happening in my driveway.”

Joan placed a comforting hand on Paige’s forearm. “Nothing you need to worry your pretty head over. I’m sure Brian’s just gonna take the children with him on a trip. Right, dear?”

“No.” Brian didn’t want to beat around the bush any longer. He was finding it harder to breathe, even though he was outside. “Come on, Jess.”

“Brian,” Paige spoke like she had no clue to what Brian was about to do ... and in front of all her friends, acquaintances and co-workers. “What do you think you’re trying to prove?”

Brian walked up to grab the first of many suitcases. “I’m leaving, Paige.”

“Oh. Well, when can I expect you and the children to be back?” Even as she tried to look at her husband, and daughter, she was still aware of all the eyes on her.

Jesse was dragging one of her own bags toward the car. “Never.”

“Jesse Lyn Kinney! Get inside the house and go to your room.” Paige felt the need to scold someone, if she couldn’t find a reason to yell at Brian, yet.

Brian stepped in between his wife and daughter. “Get in the car, Jess. I’ll pack the rest.”

“Okay, Daddy.” Jesse almost skipped for joy on her way to the passenger side door.

Her arms crossed, and high heeled foot tapping to being defied in front of people she knew, Paige turned a cool gaze to Brian. “How far do you think you’ll get? I bought everything you have, Brian. You haven’t made money in years. Your private practice is down to nil. Your new business venture hasn’t made shit. You can’t get very far on just love and morals. Who’s gonna fight for your children when life throws them curve balls, pulls the rug out from under them?”

This was his moment. Brian climbed to face Paige head on the front steps. “I will ... you fuckin’ psychotic bitch! Thanks for that glowing review, dear. Makes leaving your tight ass all the more pleasing. I know all about your sex capades with Jonah ... the dark, secret fetishes you both share. I know people who know people that have some mighty incriminating evidence to show the true subservient cunt you really are. Think the Firm would like a framed photo of you and Jonah in action? Sounds like a nice, sweet Christmas gift. Better watch your step ... I’m a man scorned ... you ain’t seen the nasty messes I could drum up for you.” Brian ducked quickly at Paige’s face. “Give me a kiss g’bye?! No?! Wh-? Well, what a shame! Toodles!”

Paige stomped her foot, bunching her fists at her sides. “I own you, Brian Kinney. I own this house. I own each of our cars. I have all the money in MY account. You can’t afford to walk away.”

Paige had thought she had Brian by the balls, like always. “What you own has nothing of value, Paige. Even me ... at least, not yet. I still have my dignity, my self-respect and the love of my children. That’s all I need. That’s all I’ve ever really needed.” Brian proceeded to unpack the Lincoln, setting every bag on the other side of the car. He’d use his cell phone to call a cab or something. “Jess, get your brother.”

Paige took the last few steps down. “You’re not seriously just gonna walk away ... with nothing? With nothing but the “clothes” on your back.” She cackled, shaking her head at the idiocy of men. “You are truly pathetic ... and so very sad. You won’t last one day ... out there alone ...”

Brian went to shut the hatch door when he heard his name called in the distance. Turning his head, Brian faced away from Paige coming toward him. He saw a black Jeep Cherokee pull up their driveway. From the driver side door came out a medium height, and build, dark haired guardian angel. The wide, friendly smile filled his vacant soul up with instantaneous joy. He hung off the window frame of the door.

“I’m sorry I’m late. Traffic was a bitch!” The lanky, well-toned man continued to climb up the curved driveway, heading for Brian slowly, hoping he’d catch onto they’re totally, on the spot, made-up story.

Under his breath, Brian said the name he’d been screaming for all these years. “Mikey.” He felt his body fill with a new confidence as Michael drew closer. “Michael, no need to apologize.” What better way to clearly show Paige that she had no idea who her husband was then to meet Michael halfway down the driveway.

They stopped just short of touching. Nearly standing toe-to toe, they quickly glanced over each other, noticing how the years apart had been very good to both of them.

The world around them did not exist for a split second of conversation.

Chocolate eyes bore into hazel depths as their hearts sped up in unison.

“I think I’ve died ...” Michael could barely choke out, unable to knock the goofy grin off his face.

“And gone to heaven. Pinch me . . . ” Brian finished Michael’s words, but began a new sentence, hoping Michael would fill in the blanks.

“I must be dreaming ... and gladly.”

In front of almost fifty on lookers and neighbors, Michael wrapped his arms around Brian, shaping his hands down Brian’s tall frame and meeting at his perfectly shaped backside. He drew Brian closer to his groin, feeling their mutual heat for each other. Standing on slight tiptoe height, Michael swooped in to kiss Brian as he had done all those years ago on the lonely rooftop.

A random voice “Woo-hoo”-ed for them to continue as they were, but they were curious to who was egging them on.

Jesse stood, holding Bram back against her, but able to cheer for her father and whoever this cutie pie was in tight jeans and an equally tight t-shirt. “Sorry, that was rude. Hi, Michael.” She gave a shy, timid wave.

Michael reluctantly let go of Brian moving further up the drive toward the bags. “Need some help with these?” He walked over to kneel on one knee in front of Brian’s children. They were striking to look at, even at this young age. “Jess ... Bram ...” He held out a kind hand to greet them. “I’m a good friend of your Dad’s. You like animals?”

Bram chose that moment to perk up, wiping at his tired eyes. “You gots a doggie?”

Michael chuckled at the sweet voice. “Nope. I got something better. Two rabbits. One for each of you. They’re a brother and sister, just like you guys. Isn’t that cool?” He stood to pick up Bram. The poor child was so tuckered out, he instinctively wrapped himself about Michael. Michael played like he was a bug on sticky fly paper, which caused Jess to giggle like a little girl.

Brian stared at this amazing man who stepped back into his life. “She hasn’t done that in years, Michael. Are you sure about this? We’re quite a handful.” His hand went to caress a line down Bram’s back, which ended up colliding with Michael’s own hand.

Michael held onto Brian with all his strength. “You gave me something all those years ago, Brian. But please don’t feel like I’m just returning the favor. We started something pretty neat way back when ... I was hoping ... well, I wanted to know if you’d like to go on a date, Brian Kinney?”

Brian laughed, a pure smile filled his already gorgeous features. He was breathtaking when being shown love and respect ... hell, just plain common decency. “Why, Michael, you old flatterer ... it just so happens ...” From the side of his eye, he watched Paige climb back up the front steps, to be coddled and petted by his mother. Good riddance! “I’m gonna be free for the rest of my life.”

“Whew!” Michael flittered a hand over his brow. “I was afraid I’d have to show that wife of yours a taste of Novotny shoe in her ass. Let me put Little Man down, get Jess settled with him ... and we’ll get these bags put away ... get on the road ... and move on with ... whatever we’re going to move on into being to each other.

They completely ignored all others.

Brian walked beside Michael. “I never once forgot about you, you know?” He lumped the bag in, pressing down to make room.

Michael did the same, stepping back. “Always dreamt about me, huh?”

“Always have ...”

“Was I naked?”

Brian shook his head, bewildered by how fate wielded her web in people’s lives, playing her game, hoping they’d learn the rules ... only to find their true happiness. “You were always still fourteen. And still the best damn kisser I’d ever known!” Standing at the hatch opening, Brian leaned back to watch Michael throw some of the other bags inside. “What was strange was that I could never keep you on that fuckin’ roof top. You escaped from me every time. My dreams were giving me a complex.”

Michael shrugged, not knowing how to answer for his dream-self. “Maybe ... I just wasn’t ready, yet.”  
He hefted up a large portfolio case to rest on top of the bags.

“Wait!” Brian scooted Michael slightly to the left as he unzipped the leather portfolio. “I was going to save this for later ... once I found you in New York ...”

Michael became speechless, his eyes widening in wonderment. “You were gonna come to New York for me?” He couldn’t stop the tears from pooling in his eyes. He had to look away.

“Hey, it wasn’t any more foolish then what you did, so don’t get all gooey and mushy on me. It’s bad enough having one spineless sap in the family.”

“Meaning me?”

“No ... I meant me.” Brian had opened the portfolio so they could see the cardboard sculpture inside. “Okay ... you can look now.”

“Oh ... no fuckin’ way, man! It’s Rage!” Michael pushed Brian away so he could fully admire the work.

Brian was touched by the name. “Is that what you plan on calling him?” It had been one of the many suggestions he’d offered to Michael to choose from and the one he liked best out of them all.

“Can you deny that it fuckin’ fits him to a tee?!”

Brian shuffled the Rage cutout from the portfolio. “And my surprise ...” He waited patiently for the critique.

“It’s ...” Michael turned his head about, wondering why the comic character looked so familiar “HOLY SHIT! It’s me, Bri! What the hell?! I’m wearing tights ... and a cape ... Christ! This is so freakin’ surreal!!” He swiveled to face Brian, his warm brown eyes filled with such pleasure. “What were we going to name him?”

“I think I had said something like Caliber or Kid Blaze ... uh, Glare ... there was another one ... began with a Z- ...”

“Zephyr.” Michael called the name out loud as he looked at his own image. “I like it, Brian. Rage ... and Zephyr.”

Brian wondered if Michael was realizing the same thing as they looked at the images in front of them. “Do you see what I see?” He moved his body to brush alongside Michael’s backside, pushing him to the bumper of the Jeep. Brian’s arms came to mirror Michael’s as they each held their perspective super hero cutout.

“It’s us.” Michael stated as plainly as either of them wanted to.

“Yeah.” Brian leaned his body into Michael’s as he rested his face against the clean, freshly washed hair spiked about Michael’s head. He buried his lips deeply pressing close to Michael’s scalp. “They look pretty good together.”

“Something tells me ... they were meant to be.” Michael was speaking about more then just their super hero counter parts. “Always will ...”

Brian quickly pulled Michael up to his chest, hugging him from behind. He found he was going to love burying himself in Michael’s sweet scented hair. He’d never felt hair so soft, with the texture of baby fine hair. “Let’s get out of here.”

“With pleasure.” Michael shut the hatch as Brian made sure Jess and Bram were okay, before he climbed into the passenger seat. He climbed into the driver’s side seat, turning over the ignition and reversing out of the driveway. He noticed Brian sadly watching his old life disappear, as he continued to look at the house and the huge grounds. Michael paused on the brake, halfway out the drive. “No regrets?”

Brian shook himself from the trance he’d been in as he watched his past slip away. His future looks so much brighter. “None.” He reached over to grab one of Michael’s hands to hold in his.

“You hungry?” Michael looked behind the Jeep, waiting for clearance to back completely out and make their way toward their new life.

“Why?”

“You like Pasta, Brian? I know somewhere where we can get a mean Marinara sauce.”

Brian glanced over to look at Bram, asleep and Jess who was probably about ready to collapse. “I don’t know if the kids could stand a restaurant right now.”

Michael chuckled, bringing Brian’s hand over to his chest. No longer did he have to cuddle a picture. He had the real thing, right in his hands. He pressed a kiss to the knuckles. “They’ll be safe, Brian ... and so will you. I promise.” He felt the responsive squeeze. “Trust me.”

“I do.”

“Good.” Tossing one of his widest smiles toward Brian’s direction, Michael was able to back out and straighten the wheel. “Let’s get this show on the road ...” Michael felt the refreshing blast of cool air on his face and turned to face it head on ...

 **  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~THE END of BOOK 1**


End file.
